


Down the Rabbit Hole, Again and Again

by TickyPik



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-18 20:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 80,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8174687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TickyPik/pseuds/TickyPik
Summary: Alice, a 25-year-old hunter, meets the Winchester brothers during an investigation involving the breaking of seals. Of no choice of her own, Alice is entangled in the deceitful web of a war between angels and demons. On the pursuit to stop the apocalypse, she discovers more about herself and her true origins than she could ever imagine. Castiel/OC~~“I am one hundred percent human!” You bark out, feeling your anger bubbling. “Not a werewolf, not a vampire, not a shapeshifter, nothing! Just human! Now, let me leave!”The two hunters look towards the angel, waiting for a response.“I never said you were any of those things,” He shifts his head just a bit, studying you from the corner of his eyes. “But you are definitely no human.”Before you can retort, the angel reemerges frighteningly close to you. You move to back away again, but he’s ready this time. His hand seizes your arm, effectively trapping you.“Let-” Just as the words leave your mouth, the man quickly releases his grip. His eyes flicker to his hand then back to you. His behavior mimics that of someone who was just electrocuted.~~





	1. Birthmark

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovelies. This is my first supernatural fanfiction, and the first installment is actually already finished. I am currently going back and forth between writing the second half of the 2nd installment and re-editing previous chapters. You'd be able to find the full series here:  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11520528/1/Down-the-Rabbit-Hole-Again-and-Again  
> I really, desperately, achingly, hope you will enjoy this story. And please, I will beg like a sinner for your critiques and reviews as if they're my sole way to redemption. >O

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone. Some of you may know a recent sensitive topic was broached by Misha Collins regarding the spelling of Cass or Cas.
> 
> I would like to explain the reason I chose the double S spelling is because I came upon the show on Netflix and the captions have always spelled it as "Cass", therefore, it became what I used. It wasn't until I started reading other fanfictions that I realized most of the fandom preferred "Cas" instead. I, personally, am perfectly fine with either and I can get lost into the story with both.
> 
> However, I would like to apologize if the deviation has taken away from the purity of the fandom. It was not my intention. I hope any new readers will not feel deterred because of this. =)

* * *

 

You shift your back slightly upwards, feeling sore from the uncomfortable arrangement of your limbs. Your hands are bound tight with rope, and the frayed edges are digging into your skin. The wooden pole you're tied to offers little comfort in your current predicament. With half-closed eyes, you survey your surroundings once again.

The warehouse you're captured in is dark. The lone bulb overhead tries its best to stretch the feeble light over the entirety of the space. The windows along the walls are boarded up, revealing nightfall through the cracks.

You look across the dirt ground to the three dead bodies that lay bloody and ravaged a few meters away. A trail of their blood leads your eyes back to your captors.

A group of eight men are positioned in various parts of the warehouse. One in particular, is standing at the center holding a large chalice dripping with crimson. Upon closer inspection, you can see their eyes are nothing but black, declaring their demonic origin. Over top, a window through the roof displays a full moon, casting an eerie glow over the lot.

“It's time for the next one.” A demon standing in the corner walks up, tapping the watch on his wrist.

The man grasping the chalice nods. “Bring her up.”

A whimper breaks out to your left. You watch silently as the young woman, tied just as you are, is yanked to her feet and pushed towards the ornate cup.

“Please, don't do this! I'll give you anything... Please!” She cries as she is dragged away.

The demon breathes out a laugh, exposing the knife at his belt. A dark grin pulls across his face.

You grit your teeth, tightening your muscles.

**_BOOM!_ **

The front doors to the warehouse are kicked open, crashing to the floor. All attention pinpoints to the two individuals standing idly by the broken entrance. You try to make out their faces, but the light is hardly strong enough. Noticing the sudden movement of your captors, the intruders raise their weapons.

“Demons!” The taller of the two shouts out.

“Yeah, I can see that! About damn time!” The other man takes a cautious step into the room. “Howdy boys, heard there was a party and just had to come.”

A feral snarl erupts from the center demon. “KILL THEM!”

All at once, the room is filled with discord. You pull free from the ropes and quickly scamper to the other side of the pole. You see the other girl struggle with her captor, doing her best to pull away from the man's knife. As he raises his hand to strike, another gunshot rings through the air. The hell-spawn howls in pain, dropping the knife and chalice with a clang. Thick streams of red spill from the cup and soak the floor.

“ _Intitem_.” You whisper.

The rope around the girl's wrist comes apart, falling to her feet. She stumbles back at her sudden freedom. Finding a wooden post for support, the girl quickly flees behind it. You are torn between the desire to help the girl and to stay hidden. When you notice none of your captors are currently paying attention to either of you, your eyes flicker back to the fray.

As the taller of the two intruders continues to incapacitate the surrounding enemies, the other would deliver the death-blow. With a deep grunt, the man plunges a dagger into his third victim. The demon stutters out a ragged cry as flashes of yellow beam beneath his skin, flickering out as he falls.

“Dean! They're trying to make a run for it!” The taller man punches back another opponent before flinging liquid from a silver canteen. There is a screech of pain when the substance touches flesh.

“Dammit, Sam! I'm moving as fast as I can!” The man named Dean rasps as he grapples with his fourth attacker.

You narrow your eyes at the chalice holding demon as he breaks for the entrance. Catching sight of the rake by the door and the rusting metal beam over top, you mutter another incantation. “ _Miras._ ”

As the demon approaches the exit, a gust of wind blows inward. The rake knocks back, sending the man toppling. He drops the chalice. The bronze cup clinks and rolls behind him. With a growl, he tries to get up. The rusted beam above him cracks, catching the demon in a shriek just as it dives downward. His cry lasts only a second before the jagged edge pierces through the man's head, stopping inches past the back of his skull. The body crumbles.

The whole room is momentarily stunned by the sudden and abnormal death. Taking advantage of the situation, Dean hacks down another one of your captors. His ally moves just as quickly and splashes another round of fluid on the remaining two. The demons cry out, as if doused with acid. Weakened, Sam overtakes the demons, pinning them down as his comrade promptly finishes them off.

You watch the last kill with bated breath. All of the demon-possessed bodies are dead, leaving you and the terrified girl alone with these men. You inch back further from the light, wondering if it's about time you high-tailed it out of here.

“Did we stop it?” Dean asks between pants.

Sam glances to the frightened girl by the pole then to the bronze chalice lying by the entrance. “I think so.”

Your ears catch a fluttering sound when a third person suddenly materializes in the room. You blink in surprise. This man, standing over the chalice, seems to have appeared out of thin air. He bends down to pick up the metal cup before examining it.

“You did well to stop this seal.”  His voice is unexpectedly gruff.

The two men jump.

“Dammit, Cass. We told you to quit doing that!” Dean shakes off his alarm and moves to wipe the blade over his sleeve. “And what the hell's with you constantly popping up behind us?”

Sam sighs, then looks to the female hostage in the corner. When she realizes she is suddenly the center of attention, she presses herself closer to the pole. Sam takes a step towards the girl.

“Please don't hurt me!”

The taller man quickly puts away his weapons and raises his hands as a gesture of non-violence. He takes another step. “It's okay. We're not here to hurt you. We're here to help.”

The girl stares at him warily. A few moments of unease roll past before her shoulders begin to lower in relief. “Oh my God...” She stutters out, “Please, I just want to go home!”

Sam lightly touches the girl's shoulder, offering support. The young woman immediately collapses into him, gripping onto his jacket with feverish intensity. She starts wail.

“It's ok. It's all over now. We'll take you to a hospital. You'll be fine.”

You study the way he consoles her, wondering if the man does this often.

“No, she won't.”

The girl’s sobs are choked mid-cry.

Dean shoots the third man a bewildered look. “Cass, what the hell are you talking about? We killed all the demons.”

The man addressed shakes his head. “She's been bitten by a werewolf. If you let her back into society, more people will die.” He pauses, something seems to catch his attention. The man starts to look around. When his face turns in your direction, you freeze. You know you're well hidden.

His actions seem to escape the notice of the other two.

Sam peers down at the young woman. “Is that true? Did you get bitten?”

The girl retracts her grip and steps back, clutching a bloody wound on her right forearm. A terrified look draws across her face. “Why? What does that mean? What's going to happen to me...?”

Unable to say anything, Sam’s eyes darken.

“Aww, c'mon!” Dean throws out his hands in frustration. “Cass, can't you use your angel powers to reverse it or something?”

The man named Cass turns his attention back to the scene before him. Without warning, he strides towards the girl, raising his hand to her head. “If you are uncomfortable with the task, I can do it for you.”

Eyes wide with horror, her voice dies to a whimper.

Ah hell! You curse in your mind. Letting go of your hiding spot, you jump into view. You make enough noise to attract the focus of everyone in the room, sending all three men on their guard. You watch with an irritated expression when the two boys finally lower their weapons.

The man named Dean gives you an odd look. “You're that other girl they caught.” He looks to the spot where you were tied up moments ago. The place is now marked by only a bundle of broken ropes. “How'd you get out?”

You give a brief sigh, feeling indignant. Now that you're closer, you get a better view of the three men. The one who spoke is wearing a gray shirt with a navy jacket and jeans. There is a dark smudge on his left sleeve. His short dark hair is messy and smeared with dust. Standing next to him is the one called Sam. He looks even taller now that you're up close. His plaid collar shirt and jeans are ruffled and sprinkled with blood. Upon looking at his face, the man seems much younger than his friend, almost docile. His longer draping hair brings out an appearance of a calculated sensitivity.

“You guys are hunters, I'm guessing.”

The two exchange looks.

“You know about hunters?” Dean asks you.

You ignore him and move on to the third man. You notice he's scrutinizing you at the same time. Unlike the other two, this one is dressed like an everyday citizen. White collar shirt and tie, dark suit, and beige trench coat. He cocks his head slightly to the side, and the weak light dances across his face. You catch the color of his pale blue eyes the instant the light refracts, filled with a brooding semblance.

You raise a skeptical eyebrow. “And apparently, one angel.”

The second observation provokes a far more severe response.

“You know about angels too?” The man’s voice is now darker, lurking with violent promises.

You cross your arms and scan their cautious expressions. “Angelic powers. That’s what you said.” You pick at your words, feeling out the risks of your position. You slide your gaze to the supposed angel. “I saw you zap outta nowhere.”

The hunters exchange muted messages. The shorter of the two then shrugs. “Okay, so who are you?”

You unfold your arms and look past them at the still-terrified girl. “I guess you can say that I'm a hunter too. I originally wasn't going to get involved, but I would prefer if you guys didn't kill perfectly innocent people before exhausting all other options.”

Dean makes funny face. “Hey, I don't wanna do this anymore than you do, but if you're a hunter, you should know. There's no cure for werewolves. If we let her go now, she's just gonna turn full Mr. Hyde the moment she falls asleep during the full moon. Then it's nothing but-all-you-can-eat human hearts buffet.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you push past the three men towards the girl. “Thanks for the imagery, but contrary to popular belief, there is a cure. But only for freshly made werewolves who've yet to change form.”

You touch the girl's arm gingerly and examine her face. “I'm going to need you to calm down. If your heartrate reaches a certain point, you may trigger your werewolf transformation.” You bend down to your right leg and take out a syringe strapped to your calf. Moving to the inside of your jacket, you extract the needle before attaching the two.

“You're shitting me. There's an actual cure?” Dean seems genuinely surprised.

The taller man is less convinced. “How are you sure she’s never turned before?”

You lift the syringe to the light and test its flow. “I saw her get bitten when I was brought in. They killed the werewolf immediately after.” You nod towards the three mangled bodies in the corner. You direct your voice back to the girl. “I'm going to inject you with this, and it'll clear the werewolf virus out of your system. Other than a prick, you won't feel a thing.” You wait for her permission.

The girl eyes the syringe with unease. After a long period of strained silence, you wonder if you have to provide further incentive. Before you speak, she acquiesces with a nod. Satisfied, you press the needle into her forearm and empty the contents into her veins. Sliding the metal beak out, you promptly step back to give her room.

“How do you feel?”

The girl passes her fingers over the prick on her arm.

The three men behind you watch with rapt attention.

“I feel...”

**_Crack._ **

A scream rips out as her body contorts in an unnatural angle. The two hunters lunge back when the woman falls, wailing and writhing on the ground. You feel a hand grab your shoulder, jerking you around to face the one named Dean.

“I thought you said she won't feel a thing!”

You glare at him and shrug off his hand. “I lied! Calm down! She'll be fine in a few hours. The werewolf virus inside her is fighting the cure. She wouldn't have accepted the serum so calmly if she knew how bad it was gonna hurt. The last thing we need is her turning due of hysteria.”

The two hunters shift uncomfortably, unable to deliver a comeback.

“So she'll be completely human again?” Sam asks, his eyes glued to the convulsing girl. “No side effects?”

You shake your head. “None that I know of.”

“And how many times have you done this?”

“She's the second.”

The two men shoot you looks of exasperation.

You return their glares with one of your own. “If you haven't noticed, it's not exactly easy to find newly bit werewolves before they turn. They’re usually clueless as to what happened, and they act perfectly human.”

“It doesn't matter.” The man in the trench coat interrupts. “If you are able to cure her, then this is a fortunate situation.” He bends down and places two fingers to her forehead. Before you can stop him, a soft light glows from his fingertips.

Her screams are cut off, and the previous look of pain is now replaced with tranquil slumber.

“I've put her to sleep. This should ease the transition.” The blue-eyed man stands back up, studying his handiwork.

You're taken aback. Given how primed he was to kill this girl just moments earlier, you're still feeling suspicious of his actions.

Dean makes an odd face of approval. “That's uh, strangely nice of you, Cass.”

When you notice the so called angel is now back to scrutinizing you, you decide it's time to call it a day.

“Well.” you say as you take a step toward the exit. “It was nice to meet you. I'm sure the girl will be fine in your capable hands. So, if you don’t mind, I'm gonna go now.” You turn swiftly, eager to leave.

“Wait, hang on-.”

Before Sam can finish, the man in the trench coat suddenly appears in front of you. You skid to a stop, almost walking into him. Startled and unnerved by his unnatural abilities, you jump back. “What are you-?!”

“I can't let you go.” There is a hint of urgency in his voice.

Alarms blare in your head. “And why is that?”

“Because you're not human.”

It takes a few seconds before you’re able to register his words. “Are you mental? I'm as human as any human ever was!” You hear the men behind you approach, and you begin to feel increasingly on edge.

“I do not have any form of mental illness.” His right hand moves to grab your wrist.

You instinctively pull away, widening the distance between you.

Sam watches the exchange with caution. “Cass, what's going on? What are you saying she is-?”

“I am one hundred percent human!” You bark out, feeling your anger bubbling. “Not a werewolf, not a vampire, not a shapeshifter, nothing! Just human! Now let me leave!”

The two hunters look towards the angel, waiting for a response.

“I never said you were any of those things,” He shifts his head just a bit, studying you from the corner of his eyes. “But you are definitely no human.”

Before you can retort, the angel reemerges frighteningly close to you. You move to back away again, but he’s ready this time. His hand seizes your arm, effectively trapping you.

“Let-” Just as the words leave your mouth, the man releases his grip. His eyes flicker to his hand then back to you. His behavior mimics that of someone who was just electrocuted.

You stand immobile, finding his actions incomprehensible.

“Cass?” Dean asks.

The angel furrows his brows. “It's nothing.” He grabs you again. You try to pull away, but his strength is immense. Roughly, he turns your wrist outward, revealing the small mark sitting an inch below your palm. His eyes slide back to your face. “ _This_ proves you're not human.”

You follow his gaze, eyeing the mark. The familiar shape of its arches and strokes which resembles that of a Chinese symbol remains unchanged. Your eyes flash back to your captor in aggravation. “Look, Mr. Angel. I don't know what you guys call this up in Heaven or where ever it is you come from. But on Earth, this is a birthmark. Which means, I've had it since I was born.”

Sam and Dean approach, curious of the impression on your arm. After examining your wrist, the taller hunter regards their angelic ally.

“What do you think?”

You roll your eyes.

Your captor turns your wrist slightly against the light. “There's no mistake. This is the mark of an immortal.”

The two hunters seem immediately convinced.

The angel loosens his hold and you finally manage to retract your arm. “You've got to be kidding me. It's a regular birthmark. There's nothing special about it. I've had it since I was born. I'm 25. I age normally like everyone else.”

The bridge of Sam’s brow crease. “So you're saying she's some kind of witch? Like she's sold her soul to some demon, and she's using spells to stay immortal?”

You actually can't believe they just completely ignored you.

The man shakes his head. “Not a witch. Just immortal.” He hesitates, a strained look on his face. “But, something is odd.”

You give up trying to convince them and simply wait for their conversation to continue.

“Bearing this mark means that she would have been alive during biblical times...” You can feel the piercing strain of his eyes. The probing gaze passes over your body, making you feel strangely exposed. “But she's telling the truth. She's only 25 years old.”

Dean rolls his shoulder back impatiently. “So which is it? Is she immortal or not?”

You remain silent, awaiting his verdict with a doubtful look.

The seraph tilts his head back, his scrutiny fastened to you. “She is definitely an immortal being. I felt her presence the moment I arrived.”

You wipe your face of all emotion. If they weren't going to let you go peacefully, then you're ready to rip these assholes a new one for your freedom.

“So what are you suggesting we do?” The taller hunter looks uneasy. He seems to sense your tension.

“Lilith is currently looking for an immortal. She'll need to be protected.” The trench-coated man brings out his hand, beckoning you to take it. “I suggest you come with us.”

You stare at the gesture before snorting sarcastically.

“Just go along with two hunters and a sociopathic angel I just met. Thanks, but no. I'll protect myself.” You turn to leave again. Although you get a few steps in, you’re once again interrupted by a figure forming out of thin air. You look up and meet the fearsome expression of a tall black man.

He abruptly grabs you roughly by the shoulders. “You need to do as you're told, immortal filth.” His grating voice is heavy with hostility.

You’re momentarily petrified, your breath caught in your throat. You can feel the blood pound in your ears. “ _Lutrus Ectium._ ” You stutter out without thinking.

Before everyone's eyes, you dissipate from view. The man who grabbed you stares at his open hands, now holding nothing. The two hunters look around the room, searching for where you might have disappeared to.

“What was that?” Dean breathes out.

The blue-eyed angel looks to his compatriot. “Uriel. What happened?”

The man named Uriel is visibly seething. “Blasted wretch. She used a spell. I can't sense her anymore.”

The seraph slides his eyes across the warehouse. “She must have teleported.” He turns to the two hunters. “We have to find her at once, before Lilith and her demons get a hold of her.”

The men trade looks before Dean responds. “Even if we were able to find her, wouldn't she just escape by disappearing again?”

“We'll locate the girl.” Uriel snarls. “Just follow our instructions on keeping her locked up when we detain her.” His angry eyes veer back to the civilian-like angel. “Let us go, Castiel. We have more orders.”

The celestial being nods back before Uriel disappears. After leaving the hunters with an almost apologetic glance, Castiel too, vanishes.

Dean gives out a troubled sigh. “God, they're such dicks!”

Sam looks around at the aftermath. “C'mon. We still gotta get rid of these bodies and take the girl to a hospital.”

Dean sighs again. “All right, I'll get the girl, you go get the shovels.”

When the two hunters finally leave, you let out your held breath. Drinking in the air, your body materializes back into view. The spell you cast is able to hide you from all forms of detection as long as you didn't breathe. You think you just broke a new record.

Knowing the two men will soon be back, you immediately exit the warehouse. You crouch and step quickly, making for the dark forest behind the building.

* * *

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	2. The Red pill or the Blue Pill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped and detained, Alice is forced to confront her adversaries head-on. Can she wheedle her way out of this mess or has she finally met her match?  
> ~~  
> “Did you really think you could out run angels?”  
> You remember his venom filled voice all too well. The angel, Uriel. You gulp nervously. “Uh... yes?” You take a step back, eyes darting for an escape route. Things don't look good. You're about to open your mouth, but something forces it shut. Your eyes grow wide with alarm.  
> Uriel has his hand raised. “That should stop you from uttering any more vexing spells.”  
> ~~

It's been two days since your run-in with the demons. Despite hearing of similar happenings in the nearby towns, you decided to keep to yourself. The allegations made by the blue-eyed angel more than unnerved you. Although you’re quite certain of being human, you still can't shake the feeling of unease. Now that you've got two hunters and apparently angels looking for you, you conclude it's best to keep low and out of the way of any supernatural occurrences.

You're lying in bed with headphones over your ears. The blasting music as an attempt at distraction is nothing more than background noise. You can't help your nagging curiosity. Why is there a sudden explosion of demon activity? And what were the demons who captured you trying to summon?

You had purposely allowed yourself to be taken, faking faint as they brought you to the warehouse. During the ride, you kept hearing the name Lilith and something about having what they needed to break the seal of Agiel.

With a groan, you take off your headphones and turn off the CD player. Nothing is helping and you’re growing increasingly restless. You glance out the window of your bachelor apartment and notice the sun has finally set. Fed up with your solitude, you think it's safe enough to venture outside for a little shopping. You quickly grab your keys, phone, and other minor necessities before closing the door behind you.

On your walk to the corner store for a case of beer and possibly a box of strawberries, your mind wanders back to the conversation between the two hunters and the angel. Clearly, they know something about these seals and the person named Lilith. You're almost curious enough to seek them out for answers. _Almost._

You give a quick glance around the store. Other than the cashier currently scanning the merchandise, there is an old woman standing by the fridge examining the boxes of eggs. You relax a little. You don't know how angels operate, but you feel there's less chance of you being found if you move after daylight. Maybe they’re resting by now. You wonder if angels sleep. Walking out of the store, you decide to take a back alley route as to further avoid mingling among other people. This way, you’d be able to enjoy a bottle without scrutiny. Enlivened by the prospect of public drinking, you quickly lift a beer from the box and pop off the cap. You take a large gulp and exhale in satisfaction. When you look up from your bottle, you abruptly lose your smile.

 A few meters down the alleyway stand two men. Behind them, the light of a back entrance throws shadows over their figures. Despite their silhouetted appearance, you recognize them immediately.

“Did you really think you could out run angels?”

You remember his venom filled voice all too well. The angel, Uriel. You gulp nervously.

“Uh... yes?” You take a step back, eyes darting for an escape route. Things don't look good. You're about to open your mouth, but something forces it shut. Your eyes grow wide with alarm.

Uriel has his hand raised. “That should stop you from uttering any more vexing spells.”

You look to the other man, remembering him to be more sympathetic. He remains idle, watching you with cool eyes.

Out of options, you turn to run. However, before a single step is taken, Uriel appears in front of you. His hand shoots out, grabbing you roughly by the shoulder.

“You won't be getting away anymore.”

The surroundings suddenly shift, and the ground beneath your feet disappears. You feel the onslaught of vertigo, then the immediate pressure of gravity. Touching solid surface again, you stumble sideways. When you get your bearings, you realize you're now in a completely different place. Your head moves back and forth as you glance about the strange room. Just as your eyes find two familiar hunters blocking the entrance to what seems to be the kitchen, you’re quickly yanked back. A hand presses down on your shoulder and you're forced into a chair. You jerk back to glare at the angel manhandling you. He gives you a snide grin in response and snaps his fingers. The next thing you know, your hands and feet are fastened to the arms and legs of the chair with ropes. The bag containing your strawberries and beer has vanished from your hands. You make more noises from your throat, still unable to verbalize your protests.

“Do you have the ingredients ready?” Uriel barks.

The hunter you remember as Dean passes over a metal bowl of mixed herbs and animal bones. He's clearly discontent with the angel's commands.

You grunt and groan behind sealed lips, pleading with your eyes at either of the two hunters to help you. They watch you with discomfort but make no indication of coming to your aide.

Uriel picks up a silver knife from the table and your eyes widen as the blade slowly approaches. Fear shoots through you when you see the callous indifference on his face. You fight against your restraints, trying to jerk as far as away from the weapon as possible. Your efforts are futile.

Uriel presses the edge against your forearm and you wince. The incision is made slowly. A clear red line thickens as blood pools along the cut. Uriel sets the knife back on the table and twists your injured arm to the side. He holds the metal bowl beneath the wound and lets the blood drip in.

At a wave of his hand, the contents inside disappear. Looking down, you notice a circle of archaic runes has appeared around you, and Uriel steps behind the markings. With a flick of his wrist, the runes catch fire, making your jolt. However, the flames soon die down to a glow, illuminating the circle with pulsing embers. The angel snaps his fingers and the hold on your mouth disappears. You take in a few deep breaths at the sudden release. Keeping your glare aimed at the ground, you hold your tongue from further exacerbating your situation.

You search the far reaches of your mind for a solution. Whatever they did, you can't seem to find the spells to break free. It's as though a part of your memory has been blocked. You close your eyes and breathe out your nose. Your insides boil at how easily you were captured and you curse your predicament. What can you do? They’re _angels._ You have no idea how powerful they are, and you’re disarmed and out-numbered. There’s no choice but to accept the situation.

“All right. You win. So what do you want?” you say through gritted teeth.

Uriel looks down his nose at you. “You are to stay here until further instruction. If you try anything, I will roast you alive where you sit.”

You narrow your eyes but otherwise say nothing.

“And you two.” He switches his attention to the hunters. “Make sure she doesn't leave your sight if you value keeping all your limbs.”

The men glare back, but Uriel ignores them.

“Castiel, you are to uncover as much information as you possibly can from the immortal while I am away seeking revelation. I will expect a full report upon my return.”

Having been standing motionless near the window this entire time, the second angel finally moves upon the address. He does, however, remain taciturn, and only returns a grim nod.

Uriel pulls his lips into a tight grin, his eyes shining with a dogmatic pleasure. Without another word, the angel disappears. The sound of fluttering wings echoes the departure.

Everyone in the room visibly relaxes.

Dean raises his hands, clenching them into fists. “God! What would I give to smash that arrogant prick face of his.”

You see the blue-eyed seraph frown. “Uriel can be... abrasive. But he is only following orders.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, whatever. You say it like that excuses the way he's been treating us like worms the whole time.”

Now that the tension has died down, you look around the room once more. Homey would be a polite way of describing this dwelling. Your eyes trace across the scratched up wooden floors then the coffee table to your left. You spy four circular imprints on the planks. You assume it’s where the table is supposed to be before it was pushed against the couch to make room for your trap. Behind the couch is a bay window and the surrounding walls are covered by tacky wallpaper marked with dust stains and age. As for the rest of the furniture, there are various bookshelves standing in the corners, filled with odd tomes of lore. You believe this must either be the living room or the study. It isn't until you crane your head over your right shoulder that you realize there’s a fourth person in the room.

The man is wearing shoddy jeans, a plaid collar shirt, and a beige vest. Atop his head is a battered old baseball cap. He looks mildly uncomfortable when you meet his eyes.

“So...” You begin once you turn back to the front. “Now that you have me sufficiently trapped. I believe we can start with the twenty questions.” In your current state of mind, you can't help the sarcasm leaking in your tone.

From the looks of everyone here, you doubt you’re in any immediate danger. It seems all your captors want is information… for now. You’ll play the role of an obedient prisoner; you’ve nothing to hide anyway. Besides… there’s quite a bit you can learn here. Haven’t you been dying of curiosity for the past few days?

The two men look at each other, unprepared with your cooperative behavior.

“Uh... okay.” The hunter you remember as Sam shifts his weight to his other leg. “How about we start off with your name.”

“Alice,” you say simply.

Sam gives a slow nod. “Alice what?”

You shrug. “Just Alice. I don't have a last name.”

Dean makes a face. “C'mon. Everyone has a last name.”

You expire a sigh. “My name is Alice, just Alice because I was an orphan. The orphanage that took me in told me I was dropped on their doorstep with nothing but the name Alice sewed over my blanket. So no last name. However, if you want, I can give the serial number they gave me when I was entered into the system.” You watch the faces of the two men twist with chagrin. You can practically feel the awkwardness rolling off them.

“I'm sorry to hear that...” Sam mutters.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Please. It was hardly a tragic experience. The staff members were all quite nice to me. I was cared for, had a warm roof over my head, and plenty of food. I should probably send them some flowers.”

Dean flexes his jaw, seeming much less sympathetic. “The spell you used when you poofed out on us. If you're not a witch, how are you able to use magic?”

The edge of your mouth twitches and you’re instantly conscious of the staring angel to your left. “I didn't exactly _poof_ out. I was there the entire time. The spell I used just makes me impossible to detect. I could be hanging off your back and you wouldn't be able to tell.” You take a small pause. “As for the magic. It was just a simple incantation. Anyone who understood the spell and the words would be able to use it. “

You see their skepticism.

“Where did you learn all this? I doubt your orphanage was giving out magic 101.”

You're unimpressed with his sardonic tone. You look down and chew your lips. The story will sound ludicrous to anyone’s ears and you don’t know how to explain it in a sensible light. “You’re not going to believe me.”

“Why don’t you try us?” The scoff on Dean’s face is enough indication of how he’ll react. His friend, however, regards you with more sincerity.

“I have a book of spells that only I can read.” Your words send their eyebrows soaring. “The book suddenly appeared in my apartment last year, and I've been studying it ever since.”

Dean shoots you a look like you've just told him pigs could fly. “Right. A book of spells that only you can read magically appeared in your apartment one day. Isn't that convenient.”

You shoot him a pointed look, you already said he wouldn’t believe you. “I’m not lying.”

The taller hunter doesn’t seem to disregard your words so quickly, but he remains silent. His eyes continue to study you while he ruminates on your explanation.  

“Where is this book?”

You glance to the left. The angel in the trench coat has stepped forward and looks like he’s ready to take off at a moment's notice. You answer him slowly, “It's on my bookshelf in my room.” Is he really planning on finding it _now_?

You blink and the angel is gone. A few seconds later, he appears again next to the two hunters, giving them a start. He looks down at his hands, and you see the familiar book bound with dark leather. The angel lifts the tome closer to view, “Is this the one?”

You nod mechanically. You don’t like how he just entered your home, but you’re even more alarmed by how quickly he found your apartment.

Sam and Dean move to either side of Castiel as he lifts the buckle and opens the book. Furrowing his eyebrows, he flips the pages at random. Sam tries to lean in for a better look, his face produces an equal look of confusion. “What language is that?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I've never seen these symbols before.” He passes the book to Sam, who then brings it to the man in the baseball cap behind you. The angel returns his gaze to you, prompting you with the same question.

You shrug. “I don't know. All I can do is read it. I don't know how I can either. I've shown it to others. Scholars, professors, random people I've met. Hasn’t worked for anyone else.”

Dean crosses his arms. “And you have no idea how it just appeared in your room?”

You shake your head. “There were no signs of forced entry. Nothing of mine was stolen. I literally have not one clue. I was wary at first, but I didn't find any dangerous spells in the book either.” You stare lazily at the ceiling, running through the text in your memory. “No animal sacrifice or child murder. Just a few small spells that came in handy once in a while. I even found the cure for werewolf bites in there too.” You blink when you remember. “Speaking of which. How was she?”

Sam pats the side of his leg, momentarily distracted. “Uh, yeah. She's fine. No reaction to silver at all. Probably still at the hospital.”

You nod, satisfied. “So, anything else?”

There's an impatient sigh behind you.

“Oh, for the love of...”

You glance at the man with the baseball cap.

“Um, Bobby? Problem?” Sam asks.

“Yeah.” He gestures towards you. “Do ya really think all this is necessary?” When the boys don't answer, the man named Bobby throws his hands in the air. “From what you've told me, you’ve basically just kidnapped a girl, who's also a hunter by the way, hasn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it, cured someone from turning into a werewolf and is right now answering all your questions rather compliantly.”

You raise an amused eyebrow when you see the three boys looking oddly ashamed. When no one moves, Bobby rolls his eyes. “Good Lord....”

He walks up and steps over the glowing circle without a second thought. The boys are planted where they are, unsure if they should stop him. After a few seconds, they cede to let Bobby do as he likes. You gladly thank the man when he unties the last rope, rubbing your sore wrists. The cut that Uriel gave you is still bleeding.

“He's right.”

You look up at the angel.

“I apologize for our treatment. You didn't deserve it.”

Castiel steps towards you and you lean back. He moves his hand to your cut, evaluating your expression. Your eyes flit from his face to his hand but otherwise say nothing. He places his fingers over the bleeding wound. The flicker of strain in his eyes does not escape your notice. When his hand begins to glow, there's a flash of heat radiating from your cut. You wince, but the pain immediately fades. Once Castiel pulls away, your arm is completely healed and clean of any bloody smudges.

“Wow.” You marvel at your freshly healed skin, twisting it around. “Thanks. I guess.”

When Bobby and Castiel step out of the circle again, you decide to stand up and stretch. Glancing over to the hunters, their expressions tell you that they have more questions. You decide to continue your complacency and sit back down. “Okay, so what else would you like to know?”

The two men are taken aback as your obedience still appears to be a foreign trait. Unwilling to wait for the speechless hunters, Bobby decides to speak. “When you were captured by the demons the other night, did you happen to know what they were trying to do?”

Your brows knit as you try to recall the events. “All I know is that they were going on about breaking some seal called Agiel. They needed the cup and three more ingredients to break it: the blood of a newborn vampire, blood of a freshly turned werewolf, and the blood of a human. They brought in a mature vampire and werewolf to turn the two girls they kidnapped. One of them we saved, the other one, I reckon you buried. I was the last one.”

Dean breaks out of his daze, his mind beginning to piece together the information. “They didn't know you weren't human.”

Your face falls. “Okay. I'm still not saying _that_.” You shoot the angel a disbelieving look. “I'm gonna need more proof than just angel boy here's say-so.”

Castiel opens his mouth to interject but is cut off by Sam.

“Speaking of which. If you were able to use your spells, why didn't you get away? How did you even get captured?”

“I was investigating them!” you say defensively. “There hasn't been this much demon activity since... ever! The only way I could think of to get more information was to _let_ them capture me.” _Which unfortunately led me to you guys._ You look to the ground and trail off. You don’t know what else the hunters can possibly ask for. You’ve pretty much told them everything pertinent… unless they wanted to start dissecting your orphan childhood. Perhaps it’s your turn to get some information. You peer up to examine their thoughtful faces. “You guys know what's been going on, right? Who’s this Lilith, and why are there so many demons running around?”

The men exchange looks, wondering whether or not they should tell you.

“Lilith is the first demon ever created by Lucifer, and she's been breaking seals around the world in order to release him from his cage.”

Your eyes widen.

Dean and Sam turn their heads to Castiel with vexed expressions, unhappy with the way he just spilled the beans. The angel looks back, slightly confused. “I see no disadvantage to her knowing this.”

The rest of their conversation falls on deaf ears. Your brain is still having trouble adjusting to what had just been said. You wonder for a moment with the sincere belief that you must have misheard. “Lucifer.” You mouth out. Even wrapping your lips around the name feels strange. “As in, the devil, Lucifer?”

Castiel nods.

You stare at the four of them, scanning their faces. From the men’s reactions, the angel probably isn’t lying. _Oh, what the hell_. Demons exist, and now, so do angels. You’ve been living much of your life as a hunter, are you really going to be surprised by _this?_ But isn’t the devil supposed to be the ruler of hell? And yet he’s in a cage? Did the angels put him there? Or… _God,_ possibly? If there’s angels, God must then exist, right? Your forehead creases as you try to make sense of your thoughts. You think you need to brush up on your bible stories. If God or the angels threw Lucifer in a cage, then the seals they’re speaking of must be something like locks…? “So how many seals does she need to break to do this?”

“Sixty-six,” replies Dean.

You nod slowly. “And how many has she broken?”

The men turn to Castiel again. The angel's expression becomes grim. “We don't know exactly, but we believe she has broken more than half.”

You shoot him an incredulous look.

“We're doing the best we can to stop them. So you can see why we couldn't afford to let you leave.” You’re pushed back again by the heated pressure of his gaze. “Not when Lilith is searching for an immortal.”

You lower your head, feeling lightheaded and surreal. “Why does she want an immortal?”

Castiel tightens his jaw. “We don't know... yet.”

Peering down at your lap, your mind continues its steadfast digestion. Should you trust them to protect you? Even if you escape, they’ll likely just find you again. You have no idea how to ward yourself against angels, plus this Lilith character doesn’t sound like something you can handle alone. The angel before you seems relatively easy to work with, but you balk at the idea of enduring the other one. Decisions, decisions. Your mind runs through the different routes you could take and the possible outcomes of each choice. You toy with various ideas before you settle for the one least risky.

“So…” you say with a measured tone. “It seems like my best course of action would be to stay here…”

You can tell the men aren’t too happy with the arrangements the angels have foisted on them. Whatever their relationship with heaven or the angels, it seems shaky at best. Dean sighs, pulling a hand down his jaw. He’s obviously mulling out the finer details but in general agreement. “Yep.”

Sam offers you a wry grin. You suppose he thinks you’re in the same boat as them now.

You temporarily quash your insecurities and push yourself to embrace the circumstances. Your interests seem more or less aligned, so the practical move right now would be to make them see you as an ally. There’s still a lot more you can learn from them, and you’ve better chances at maintaining your safety if you secure a friendship.

“Well then.” You stand up, smiling as cordially as you can. “Guess I'll be imposing on you a while longer.”

 

* * *

 

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!! Reviewers get the _healing touch_ from Castiel!**


	3. Dreaming Alice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forced under supervision, Alice does her best to gain insight into her captors.  
> ~~  
> “So this is what you angels do? Stop demons and boss humans around?”  
> “Our primary mission has always been to protect humanity. Due to Lilith breaking free from Hell and her efforts to start the apocalypse, we felt compelled to intervene.” He makes a slight pause. “Even if we—as you say— have to boss a few humans around.”  
> You pull yourself upright and give him a funny look. “Is that really your primary mission? To protect us? Because it feels like your friend, Uriel, would have a field day if the apocalypse were to wipe us out.”

When Sam and Dean first consented to you moving in with them, you had thought you’d be dwelling in the humble abode to which you were first kidnapped. To your dismay, the house you were in actually belonged to the man named Bobby, and that the two didn't really have a place of their own. Due to their jobs as hunters, they more or less just drifted from one motel to the next. Although Bobby was more than ready to house you, it was decided by Castiel that you'd be safer moving with the boys.

When Uriel returned, he was livid. Not only was the archaic circle that trapped you swept away, you were also walking around the house without any form of restraint. Castiel tried to explain you were being cooperative and had agreed to stay under supervision. After much persuasion, Uriel finally allowed you this moderate freedom, but not before burning your shoulder with an Enochian mark. He told you the mark would allow the angels to track wherever you were, and should you participate in any suspicious activity, he would have you strung up and skinned alive. You had to bite down on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from further _incurring_ his wrath.

Once the condescending angel left, Dean suggested you fill your time researching for any occurrences similar to the unraveling of seals. In between reading up about Lucifer and Lilith, you decided to find out more about the two hunters themselves. Now that you were no longer seen as a suspicious captive, they were more or less willing to open up about themselves. When you offered to pay for delivery, they became especially talkative.

You discovered that the two men were, in fact, brothers and that their last name was Winchester. Unlike you, they got into hunting because of a family tragedy. All they were willing to say was that they lost both their parents to a yellow-eyed demon, one that they've successfully killed. However, when you asked them why they didn't quit once they've exacted their revenge, they explained that there was still work to be done. You noticed a hint of guilt in their words and a certain tension in their midst, but you didn't press.

After dinner and a few beers, Castiel materialized back in the living room with the sole mission of babysitting you.

 

…

“So,” you ponder aloud, throwing another tank top into your duffle bag, “Am I supposed to be the type of immortal that’s invincible, or am I easily killable like anyone else?”

“I'm not sure.” 

Since your arrival, Castiel has planted himself by the bedroom window and has yet to move. You’re also aware that he’s been staring at you for just as long. To be more accurate, you’d find his gaze following you whenever you’re in the same room. And like always, his gaze is strained, looking as though he’s laboring to solve an extremely difficult puzzle. Needless to say, this behavior makes you uncomfortable. And though you've been doing your best to ignore it, it’s easier when there are other people in the room.

As of now, due to unavoidable circumstances, you find yourself forced to bear the angel’s scrutiny. Having needed some of your belongings to ease the house-arrest, he offered his protection as well as his mode of transportation.

Castiel frowns, looking away from you for the first time. “Your situation is different. Although your mark dates back to biblical times, its source, a blade of heaven, has long been destroyed. The only way for you to have received the mark would be if you, _yourself_ , had been there physically.” His eyes flicker back to you, bearing with it its pressure. “But as we discussed earlier, you've only lived for 25 years.”

Your eyebrow twitches, finding his latter comment oddly belittling. “Then, the only way to tell which type of immortal I am would be when I die.” You say coolly.

Castiel nods.

“Well, let's hope it won't come to that.”

You toss your remaining necessities into the duffle and zip it up. Pulling the strap over your shoulder, you signal Castiel that you're all ready to go. The angel materializes only inches away, so close you can see the flecks of gold in his irises. Your eyes widen and you reflexively lean back. You don't think Castiel is aware of the notion of personal space, and the unguarded manner in which he focuses on you is unnerving. It’s like staring into a sun… that’s staring right back, and somehow it draws out your own vulnerability as if your deepest thoughts and emotions are suddenly open for the world to see. It’s painfully personal, and you immediately wish one of you is wearing sunglasses.

He places his hand on your shoulder and a grimace flashes across his visage again. After the vertigo passes, you open your eyes. You’re now standing in Bobby's guest bedroom.

You scan the angel’s face when he removes his hand. Castiel looks vaguely despondent as his hand draws his own gaze.

“Am I hurting you?”

His eyes fly to yours. “I don't understand what you mean.”

You chew your lip at his expectant stare. “When you grabbed my arm that time at the warehouse and every other time you've touched me since… You always look like you’ve received a shock… or something...” You catch him glancing at his hand again before he quickly pulls it from view.

“It's nothing. And no, you're not hurting me.” Castiel doesn't meet your gaze. You wonder if this is how he acts whenever he has something to hide. Perhaps angels aren’t good at lying. It’s an oddly endearing mannerism, being so childlike. But your amusement falters when you cast the same demeanor on Uriel. Inwardly shuddering, you ban the image from your mind. _No, not endearing at all._

You turn away from him and throw your duffle onto the bedside table. Stretching a bit, you plop onto the mattress covers and look up at the ceiling. While Castiel situates himself near another window, your eyes trace over the minute cracks and dents that blemish the paint, absently wondering how old the house is and if a renovation would be a worthwhile investment. The line of a crack leads your eyes down the walls to the window pane, directing your attention to the angel again. You wonder if he likes lounging by windows.

“So this is what you angels do? Stop demons and boss humans around?”

Given his orders to watch you, you doubt Castiel will be leaving anytime soon. You figure you might as well make small talk. It won't be any skin off your nose if you just happened to discover some useful information about angels. You’ve always found this to be the shrewdest of your traits, but the motivation behind it is purely self-preserving. Had Uriel been as cordial, you would have invited the conversation with genuine interest rather than calculated prodding veiled under glib curiosity.

 “Our primary mission has always been to protect humanity. Due to Lilith breaking free from Hell and her efforts to start the apocalypse, we felt compelled to intervene.” He makes a slight pause. “Even if we—as you say— have to _boss_ a few humans around.”

You pull yourself upright and give him a funny look. “Is that really your primary mission? To protect us? Because it feels like your friend, Uriel, would have a field day if the apocalypse were to wipe us out.”

The man frowns. “Uriel's methods can be... severe, but he is loyal to the mission as all angels are.” Castiel glances down at his hands, casting shadows over his eyes. Whatever’s running through his head doesn’t seem to be pleasant, and it’s shown clear as day on his face. His appearance would garner immediate sympathy from any onlookers, and you suddenly picture a throng of women leaping to console the brooding angel. “And since Uriel is currently in command, you may have to bear with his methods a bit longer.”

You inwardly groan, but his last words catch your attention. “Currently? Who was in command before?”

Castiel keeps his gaze lowered. The kicked-puppy look is turned on Max. “I was.”

You raise your eyebrows. “What happened?”

The angel makes an uncomfortable noise in his throat. “I was demoted due to my lack of... _resolution_. My superiors did not approve of how I handled myself during the breaking of the seal of Samhain.” He slowly brings his eyes to meet yours, accepting his shortcomings. “It was my fault the seal broke.”

You latch onto his gaze a while longer before you can no longer withstand its honesty. Looking away, you swallow a certain heaviness in your throat. His confession is sobering, and you drop the attempt to wheedle any information out of him. It’s almost like taking advantage of an innocent, wide-eyed child… who’s physically more powerful than you and is acting as a probation officer. You give a discomfited sigh, feeling quite muddled at the moment. Although, the last few minutes is an eye-opener of his character. “Sam and Dean explained to me what happened…”

Castiel is silent. When you sneak a look at him, he’s waiting with a bracing expression, as if expecting you to give a similar verdict for his failings.

 _God, those eyes._ You find it hard to even tease him. While the cause for such stringent self-discipline concerns you, your lips twitch into a lopsided grin. The story the brothers told you is vastly different, and while it doesn’t exactly paint the angels in a virtuous light (which gives you a migraine at the irony), one of the two’s conduct was considerably more reprehensible than the other. You’d sooner kick yourself before supporting such a callous and self-defeatist mindset.  

“For the record, trading a seal in return for the lives of a thousand people is a much better show of _resolution_ than your superior's approach.” You shrug, carefully gauging his expression from the corner of your eyes. “But I guess they would disagree.”

“They do,” Castiel says, pausing to make a strange face. He dithers, seeming unsure of what to say. When he finally settles on something, he looks up again with his eyes a few shades lighter. “But, thank you. Your words are... comforting.”

You laugh out at his awkward gesture. You wonder how he’d react to a full blown gushing compliment. “Happy to help.”

He nods, but the clumsy mannerism abruptly drops and the softened gaze is wiped from his face. The man cants his head, noticing a sound you can't hear.

He stands up. “I have to go,” he says simply, his stony look back in place.

The mood change prompts your own vigilance, and you stare at him for an explanation.

 “I am being summoned.” Without another word, Castiel vanishes.

You blink a few times, still adjusting to angels popping in and out at will. When the silence settles, you look around and realize you're alone. The exhaustion you’ve staved off for the past few days rushes back like water from a broken dam, dropping sudden weights over your shoulders and eyelids. You let out an exaggerated sigh and kick off your boots. Crawling under the covers, you don’t even bother changing out of your day wear. God knows what will be blowing into your life now that you're involved with angels and demons.

 

~Castiel P.O.V.~

When I touch down in Heaven, I linger for a bit.

The gateway into Heaven's inner sanctum is the never-changing Sunday morning of a young Japanese girl. The piece of Heaven that she created for herself before her untimely death is a frozen moment from her happiest memory. A few meters from where I stand is a grand cherry blossom tree. I can see her sitting on the grass at the base of the trunk. On her lap is her favorite picture book that her late mother read to her every night. Her attention, however, is currently possessed by a small, white, yelping terrier. Her high-pitched laughter rings through the air as her pet fills her face with wet kisses.

My eyes fall to my left hand, and Alice's words begin to echo in my mind.

 

_~“…Am I hurting you?”_

_“I don't understand what you mean.”_

_“When you grabbed my arm that time at the warehouse and every other time you've touched me since. You always look like you've received a shock… or_ _something…”~_

I wasn't lying. She didn't hurt me. Although I imagine the sensation is similar to being shocked by electrons, the feeling isn’t _unpleasant_. I recall the moment I first noticed the woman and how abnormal her presence seemed…

 

_There was something odd in the atmosphere as soon as I landed in the warehouse. The air was magnetized. Something was exciting the nearby organisms to an almost atomic level. Yet, I couldn't pinpoint where the feeling was coming from; it was too weak._

_Then she stepped into view, and it was like an alarm blasted through my skull. My head was pounding. I felt I was forgetting something gravely important. But what? I kept my eyes locked on her._

_What was she? Definitely not human._

_I scoured the far reaches of my mind. What was I forgetting? I noticed Jimmy stirring within me, the host of the human vessel I’m currently borrowing. He felt the drumming in my head and was pained by it, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. There was something crucial that I needed to remember..._

_I scrutinized her as she consoled and cured the female captive of the werewolf virus. I have never met this female before, but I couldn't scratch the nagging sentiment that something was familiar. When the woman turned to leave, every fiber of my body screamed to stop her. Before I realized, I was already in front of her._

_I told her she wasn't human, an excuse to keep her in my sight, but it was the truth nonetheless. I reached out to grab her, but she evaded me. The woman bristled, her body language defensive. She denied my statements. I approached her again a second time, successfully making contact as I grabbed her wrist._

_That was when I first felt it. The electric pull that stung me when I touched her skin. I immediately drew back. This was something foreign to me. Had she attacked me? There was no injury to my hand._

_I scrutinized her again. What was she? What was this familiarity? I reached out for her before I knew what I was doing. I looked down at the thin wrist trapped in my grip, and then it dawned on me. Etched into her skin was the mark by the Blade of Fire, the mark of an immortal._

 

I pick up my feet and walk towards my expected rendezvous point. Stepping into a cluster of trees that lined the edge of the girl's Heaven, the scenery abruptly shifts. Instead of the previous verdant surroundings, I’m now standing within the room of a polished office building. Through the maze of hallways, the walls and ceilings are suffused with white. What little decor there is are placed with meticulous symmetry. Not a speck of dirt or dust can be found. I don't know why, but I never liked it. Not that soldiers of the Lord should take any preference in architectural decor. It just feels... suffocating.

When I round the corner to my superior's office, I find that Uriel is already there waiting for me. He gives me a curt nod before I turn my attention to our commanding officer.

“Good to see you, Castiel.”

I nod. “It's good to see you too, Zachariah.”

The vessel my superior has taken is that of a middle-aged man. Although he’s senescent and nearly bald, there is a certain expressive quality in his face and stature that seems to suit Zachariah's nature.

My commanding officer leans back in his chair. “I hope all is well with the immortal that is currently under your administration.” He says with a smile.

I lift my head in affirmation. “She is being completely cooperative.”

Zachariah nods. “Good, good.” He then slides a warning glance to Uriel. “And remember, no harm is to come to her.”

Uriel scowls. “I still do not understand. If the demons need her to free Lucifer, why do we not simply destroy her? Even with the Immortal Mark, Heaven's arsenal is filled with weapons that will render her to dust at a touch.”

Zachariah smiles again but his gaze hardens. “All in due time, my dear Uriel. She is vital in the ultimate plan in stopping Lucifer. So until that time comes, not a hair on her head, understood?”

Uriel cedes, his frowning expression stilled. “Understood.”

Zachariah turns his eyes to me, “And you, Castiel, are to keep guarding her. Succeed in this task, and you can be redeemed to your old station.”

I bow my head in accordance, though my thoughts are more unsettled. Perhaps, I should be relieved or simply just accepting of my orders like I always am. Yet, I feel despondent. I seem to have lost my previous imperative for the role, and I’m unsure if regaining my former post matters much to me. A realization that is strange in itself. We follow orders because that is what we’re made to do, why would any feelings appear regarding the matter at all?

“Now onto the pressing matters.” Zachariah's expression darkens. “It has come to heaven's attention that someone is killing angels.”

My face darkens. I remember the dismal scene I had discovered a few days ago. There was a sudden burst of turbulent energy that drew my attention to the area, and what I found in its wake was so much worse. The empty vessel of one of my sisters laid broken in the middle of the highway. A shadow of her wings, the symbol of her angelic origins and her unfathomable death, scorched into the asphalt beneath her. This was the real reason for which I was summoned.

“Do you have any information as to who or what is doing this?” I ask.

Uriel grows tense. “No demon alive is known to be powerful enough to kill an angel. And the one person who has the means and motive to destroy us is still currently locked in his cage.”

“Yes, yes. All facts known to everyone.” My superior officer nods impatiently. “However, if a demon has somehow gotten its decrepit hands on an angel blade, then the situation is a little more problematic.”

Uriel and I exchange looks of disbelief. But then again, what other explanation is there?

“You must get to the bottom of this at once.”

I wait for further instruction. If a demon is killing my brethren, then he shall receive no mercy.

I watch as Zachariah stands from his seat. “We have already captured the demon called Alastair. I want you to get Dean Winchester to extract the information we need.”

I feel my earlier determination falter. “With all due respect, it was Alastair who tortured Dean Winchester when he was dragged to hell, the same Alastair who broke him into unraveling the first seal. I do not believe he will take to this task willingly.”

Zachariah circuits around his desk, bringing the full weight of his authority towards me. “Castiel, you have already been warned regarding this unhealthy sentimentality you seem to bear for this human.” He leans in, pressing down against me with an unyielding gaze. “Your brothers and sisters are _dying_. We saved Dean Winchester from hell. He owes us his existence. So do whatever you have to do to _make_ him take to this task.”

My orders are absolute. I cannot disobey. Zachariah is right after all. To save the lives of many, the feelings of a single man shouldn't be of concern. “I understand,” I say simply.

My commander leans back, appeased with my compliance. “Good, you are dismissed."

 

… 

By the time I arrive back at the gate, Uriel is already gone. With the angels dying, he must feel even more on edge. Not to mention our only lead to finding the culprit now rests on the ability of a mortal man.

I sigh.

Uriel’s clear distaste in working with the two men runs fresh in my mind. I understand the human race is a flawed species, but I’m unable to feel the same contempt that Uriel harbors. I’ve seen the mistakes the men made, and the mistakes they’re still making. I’ve also seen the thoughts in their mind, their desires, their fears. But past all the chaos, guilt, and pain, there is something strangely enthralling about them… about _all_ humans _._

I exit from the hallway and arrive at the gateway again. I’m greeted by the same cluster of trees and the splattering of sunlight pouring over me through the foliage. As I take a few steps forward, I hear a far-off sound. I glance towards the girl and her puppy. Strange. It’s not coming from them.

The voice rings again, drifting like a lost echo in the wind. My feet carry me into the open as I try to chase the sound. I strain my ears, turning back and forth so I might catch it again. When the call finally arrives, I recoil from it. Instead of a thread-like whisper, its volume has crescendoed to a thundering boom, calling my name like a cracking whip. I grab onto the sides of my head in pain, trying to block the noise. But no matter how I press my palms against my ears, the booming continues, bludgeoning my mind with each vibration. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling my vessel's blood boil in its veins. The explosion comes again and I lose my balance, but through the pain, I sense myself being pulled through space as Heaven's presence fades away. When I touch down on solid ground, the roaring suddenly stops. Straightening, I open my eyes and look up.

I’m back in Alice's bedroom.

My eyes dart around the space, searching for the source of the excruciating summoning. An instant later, my vision hones in on the sleeping figure under the sheets. I stare transfixed at the unconscious girl.

Was it her? Did she call me in her _sleep_? I swallow hard. I’ve never experienced a call as agonizing as _that_.

Alice is restless in her slumber, tossing and turning. She seems to be mumbling something. I narrow my eyes in curiosity, deciding to draw closer.

_“Erus... Crioati... Erus...”_

I freeze, my alarm sharpening my senses to a serrated edge. Alice is speaking _Enochian_. How does she know the language and why didn’t she tell me? The mumbling continues, and I decide to push aside my misgivings for the moment. Drawing next to her bedside, I fixate on her words.

_“Ss… Crioati... Erus...”_

Something about breaking and ... curse? I listen again with doubled focus.

 _“Crioati... mmm… Erus ay…mmmghmm… crioati...”_ Her face twists into a grimace and her words slur into incoherence. I place a hand against the headboard and lower myself. The distress on her face intensifies.

_“Erus ay crioati… aghh…. Er **us…** ay **cr** … **io** ati... mmhmmm... **Er** …gughh… **us** ay crioati... sss… ah… Sssoo… aghhh…. **Sovem**... ugh… **Soveminl**... **Castiel!** ”_

Pain slices through my mind and I back away. Taking a sharp breath, I regather my senses. Distancing myself seems to have dampened the pain, and judging from Alice’s expression, she’s experiencing a similar effect.

My lips draw back in a grim line. Alice just said my name, my _true_ name, in Enochian. _How_ does she know this? And _what_ is happening? Beating back the rising frustration, I repeat her disjointed words in my head.

 _To break, curse, remember...?_  

I dither in spot for another moment, trying to form a logical answer from the string of cryptic and barely intelligible words. When my mind can no longer endure its attempt to make rhyme or reason of her utterings, I oscillate between risking another approach and staying my distance.

A mild split now mars her brows and her words are falling softer and softer. With each breath, the mumblings disappear. I can’t contain my curiosity. I must see what she is dreaming. I capture her bedside once more and reach forward to touch her forehead. When my fingers make contact, the same shock that’s greeted me makes its welcome again, but this time, the ferocity is multiplied ten folds. The jolt travels up the length of my arm then my neck, only to burst when it reaches my mind. I’m blown back from the sheer force, eyes widening as I glimpse Alice's awakening.

With a wild and alarmed gaze, her irises glow an unnatural hue of shifting colors.

_“ **So** Ve **mINl**!”_

I land wobbly on my feet. Luckily, the blast wasn't strong enough to send me crashing into anything. When I have my bearings, Alice is sitting upright.

 

~Alice's P.O.V.~

You wake with a start, feeling as if someone had just flicked you in the face. Holding your head with a groan, you force your tired eyes open.

“Castiel?” You breathe out when you see the angel standing frozen a few feet from your bed. “What are you doing here?” You become wary when you see the alarm in his expression.

The blue-eyed angel is statue-like. His lips are pressed into a grim line and the muscles in his jaw grow taut. “You were speaking Enochian.”

You rub your face in an attempt to clear away the haze. “What?”

“You were speaking Enochian in your sleep, Alice,” Castiel repeats, sounding stressed. “You summoned me here.”

When you don’t respond he walks to your bedside, keeping his searing gaze trained on you.

You feel increasingly confused, and it isn't the sleep deprivation.

Castiel places a hand on the bedpost as he leans over you. His gaze is piercing, accusing even. “You called out to me, spoke my true name in Enochian and brought me here.” He searches your face, looking for any flashes of recognition.

You draw a blank.

Castiel's brow furrow. His eyes trail to his hand gripping the bedpost, seemingly lost in thought. “You were able to _drag me_ from Heaven...”

You raise your eyebrows, feeling confounded and with little intelligible words at your disposal. “Um...” You immediately regret opening your mouth when it snaps Castiel's attention back to you. “…Sorry?”

His gaze darkens. “I need you to remember, Alice. You were telling me something about breaking a curse. And you kept repeating the words ‘to remember’.”

“Isn't that ironic.” Your remark falters at his expression. _Jeez._ You really rather not deal with this when you’ve just woken up. Ceding, you close your eyes and your face scrunches in concentration. You try to drudge up any memories matching his recount. Dark swirls of colors emerge in your psyche, lined with feelings of restlessness and anxiety. You try to pick apart the mental blur, but when the effort returns with empty results, you push out a defeated sigh. “I'm sorry, Castiel, but I don't remember anything.” Your eyes soften when you see his frustration. “I've never been able to remember my dreams.”

Castiel contemplates for a moment. “Will you let me help?” He takes his hand from the bed post and holds it in front of you. “I may be able to access your subconscious if you allow me to touch your mind.”

Let a stranger access the inner-workings of your mind? The very idea repels you. You’ve admitted that you’ve no secrets and you stand by that assertion. But to volunteer your memories and emotions? All things deeply personal and are the very makeup of who you are... A hefty demand would be a light way of calling it. Somehow, you doubt the angel even knows how much of an invasion his request it.  

You make a reluctant noise in the back of your throat, but his desperate eyes stop you an inch before you refuse. Whatever you said while you were asleep must have really perturbed him. The tight line of your mouth twinges and a back and forth wrestle breaks out in your head. From the struggle, fragmented thoughts echo and bounce around in your skull.

 _I have a right to my privacy! …But possible end of the world…? I’ll be leaving myself vulnerable! …But this could be a key clue!_ _…But… revealing everything to someone I_ barely _know…_

You glare into the ruffled fabric of your blanket.

_Goddamn seals, goddamn angels…_

Scowling, you force your jaw to unlock. “Fine. Go right ahead.”

Unaware of the lenience you’ve just allowed him, Castiel brings his hand towards you. His fingers twitch when they touch the center of your forehead. You wait for some kind of response. Surely, you would feel an indication if the angel has made a connection with your psyche… You wonder if you’ll regret this decision later on.

After a few more seconds of nothing, you peer over to Castiel's strained grimace. He draws back, looking more confused than ever.

“I don't understand.” He scrutinizes you with the same arduous-unsolvable look. “There's something blocking me… like a wall of some kind protecting you.”

Your shoulders sag with relief, but the emotion is blemished by a touch of disappointment. _All that anticipation for nothing._ Just as you open your mouth, the sound of footsteps approaches your door. The knob turns, swinging the entrance open. At the threshold appears Sam and Dean.

“What's going on?” Dean raises an eyebrow at the scene before him.

Sam looks back and forth between you and Castiel. “This house is old, so sound travels easily. We were worried something happened... Cass?”

The angel straightens himself. “Alice summoned me in her sleep,” he deadpans. “She was speaking Enochian. I was trying to help her remember.”

The edges of Dean’s lips twitch. “You were dreaming about Cass?” The hunter grins suggestively. “What are you, Stockholm syndrome?”

You shoot him a look. “Not like that, you pervert.” At which Dean chuckles. “Castiel said I was saying something about breaking a curse?” You look to the angel for verification. At his nod, you turn back to the Winchesters. “Not that I can remember any of it...” You narrow your eyes. “And the next time you decide to barge into a lady's room, don't. You guys need to learn how to knock.” All the drama has made you snappish.

Dean rolls his eyes while Sam is looking apologetic. “Sorry, we were worried.”

You pull the covers away and leap off the bed, feeling more or less awake. You turn to Castiel. “So what now?” Your expression becomes laggard. “Are we gonna keep at this trying-to-break-into-my-mind thing?”

Castiel deliberates for a moment, his eyes flickering back to the Winchesters. “No.” He turns to Dean with a hardened look. “I've been given orders.”

Dean loses his previous humor. “What is it?”

“We need your help, Dean. And you're not going to like it.”

* * *

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!! Reviewers get a late-night bedside visit from Castiel!!**


	4. Kings, Queens and Jacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean disappear as Alice contemplates her own safety. She tries to uncover more about the angels through Castiel and grapples with what she discovers.   
> ~  
> You blink in surprise. “You're their boss?” You make a mental halt and shake your head of the technicality. “Where are the Winchesters? What’ve you done with them?”  
> Ignoring you, the middle-aged angel looks around the old motel room with disdain. With a snap of his fingers, a polished leather armchair appears behind him. The angel sits down and with a wave of his hand, the door to your room closes, jerking your attention to the apparent loss of freedom. You begin to feel increasingly on edge.  
> ~

 

You slam the book shut with irritation, startling the older man in the baseball cap a few feet from you. You pull your hands over your face and rub your eyes. “I swear to God, if I have to read one more page on how Lucifer is evil in 18th century English, I'm going to shoot myself!”

Recovering from the sudden clamor, Bobby looks at his book again and gives a wry chuckle. “Yeah, those texts aren't easy on the eyes. People back then were quite uh ... sermon-y.” The humor quickly fades from his eyes when he remembers.

You look down at your hands, feeling useless yet unable to sit still.

After Sam and Dean so rudely barged into your room, Castiel explained his orders to Dean. Angels were _dying_ , and the hunter was to find out who through a demon named Alastair… in any means possible.

You frown at the memory.

It was only a second after that Uriel appeared. Even with Dean's firm refusal, the two angels gave no compromise. Uriel had grabbed him before Sam could react and disappeared along with Castiel. You were idle, having no idea what to do. You watched as Sam cursed and paced out of the room with worry. When you tried to follow, he demanded that you stay behind, stating that _he_ would take care of it. You silently observed from the top of the stairs when Bobby, too, was shunned. With heaviness in his shoulders, Sam walked out the door.

…

 

You look at the ticking clock on the wall. It's been a whole day and there are still no messages from either of the Winchester brothers. You noticed Bobby had been staring at the same page for over twenty minutes. The man must be worried sick. You glare down at your pile of books on Lucifer, Lilith, and the few articles on Enochian symbols. Pushing them off your lap, you bolt up.

“I'm gonna go make some tea,” you say. If you kept idle for another minute you feel you might go stir-crazy.

Bobby nods absentmindedly. “Tea sounds good.”

You stride into the kitchen and search the cabinets until you find a teapot. You’re pleasantly surprised to find loose chai tea leaves in a metal container. From what you’ve seen of Bobby, you took him for the bare minimum kind of guy. While you wait for the water to boil, you sneak a quick glance at the veteran hunter. Despite the circumstances, you’re still quite grateful to the man for housing you. If it weren’t for Bobby, you doubt the arrangements prepared by the angels would be very agreeable.

You’ve never had much trouble making friends since most people you encounter find you rather pleasant to be around. It’s not to say you’ve never made enemies, but you’ve noticed you sometimes have a _disarming_ effect on others. On multiple occasions, people have told you how difficult it was to stay angry or irritated or sad when they’re near you, and you’re ashamed to admit you’ve exploited that knowledge more times than you’d like. This time, be it Bobby’s kindness, your own effect, or some combination of the two, you have no intention of taking advantage of the man, and if you can help it, the brothers by extension—since he obviously cares deeply about them.

A beeping ringtone cuts through the silence followed by the sound of fumbling. You peer back into the study as Bobby nearly knocks off half the things on his table to reach for the phone.

“Hello?” Bobby stills as he listens with rapt attention. “Is he ok? ...Where? ... I'll be right there—No, Sam! I’m coming and that's final. ...Watch him for me.”

Beep.

The man leaps from his desk. He grabs the car keys hanging off the wall and looks at you. “Forget the tea. Dean's in the hospital. You coming?”

Without another word, you turn off the stove and follow him out the door.

The whole drive to the hospital, Bobby berates to you about the two boys. He complains at how careless they are, how bull-headed they can be. How they never listen when he tells them to be careful, and all the asinine drama that constantly pops up between the two of them. You inwardly smile as Bobby continue his rant.

There is so much love he feels for the boys; they’re family. You wonder if Sam and Dean know how much Bobby cared for them. You’re a little jealous. When you finally reach the hospital, Bobby is so hasty he jumps out of the car and slams the door shut without taking his keys. By the time you unbuckle your seat belt, Bobby is halfway to the hospital entrance. You grab the keys in his stead and make sure to lock the car before you head after him. When you reach the front desk, Bobby is already gone.

You greet the woman behind the circular counter. “Hello. I'm looking for a Dean Winchester. He was brought in a few hours ago.”

“Hold on.” She looks through her computer for the name, the light from the screen reflects off her square-framed glasses. “Sorry. There's no one here by that name. You're sure it's this hospital?”

You take in a deep breath. They must have used aliases. Looking back at the expectant woman, you ask her if she saw an old man with a beaten-up baseball cap walk in here just moments ago. Her eyes give you a probing once-over before she directs you to the same room she had told him. You readily thank her and take off. As you turn the hall after the stairs, you immediately see Sam and Bobby deep in conversation in the waiting room. They’re so engrossed in their discussion they don't notice you. You hear bits and pieces of their exchange to know that Dean is hurt badly.

The demon he had interrogated somehow escaped his restraints and throttled the hunter into a pulp. Sam mentions that Castiel was the one who drew the demon circle from which Alastair broke out of.

You walk towards the patient rooms, counting off the numbers up to Dean’s. When you approach his room, the sound of his voice stops you mid-stride.

“Is it true? ... Did I break the first seal? ... Did I start all this?”

“Yes.” You hear Castiel's quiet voice. Silence ensues, presaging, _damning_.

A voice inside you tells you to leave, that this conversation is much too private for your ears, but another part of you is not so convinced. You could _learn_ something. And with the stakes growing higher, you’re not about to let go of valuable information on the sense of propriety. Quelling the conscientious voice, you move to press your body against the wall beside their door.

“When we discovered Lilith's plan for you, we laid siege to hell. And we fought our way to get to you before you—”

“Jump started the apocalypse.” The words ring with hollow numbness.

“But we were too late.”

“Why didn’t you just leave me there then?” You’ve never heard a man so hoarse, so _fractured_. You can only imagine what kind of expression he’s making.

“It's not... blame that falls on you, Dean. It's fate.”

You close your eyes, starting to feel lightheaded.

“And the righteous man who begins it… is the only one who can finish it. _You_ have to stop it.”

There is a choking pause.

“Lucifer? The apocalypse? What does that mean?” Dean's voice breaks. Unable to hold back his emotions, a flood of agony and self-loathing assaults your hearing. “Hey! Don't you go disappearing on me, you son of a bitch! What does that mean?”

You get up from your wall and walk away, unable to stomach any more of their conversation.

 

XXX

 

You stand frozen in the middle of your motel room.

“Sam?” You call out again, turning another 360 degrees in hopes that the man would just show up. Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

It's been a day since Dean's hospitalization, and while you and Sam have been waiting in a nearby motel for Dean to recover, Bobby had to return to Sioux Falls upon receiving an urgent call from another hunter. The two of you decided to spend the time doing further research. The apocalypse, seals, Lilith, anything you could scrounge up. The conversation between Dean and the angel has imbued you with a heavy dose of sobriety, and you’re no longer able to meander about lightheartedly.

Just a few minutes ago, you and Sam were discussing a possible case of another seal breaking. You left to use the adjoining bathroom only to return to an empty room. Did Sam suddenly leave? You certainly didn't hear the front door open or close.

You look over to the desk he was sitting in just moments ago. His laptop is still open with a steaming cup of coffee to its left. Your brows furrow when you realize Sam's phone and keys are still lying on the bedside table next to his jacket. You walk to the door and open it. Peering outside, you see the Winchester's Impala sitting right where it was parked last night. There is a creeping paranoia in your stomach. You move to grab the car keys off the table.

“You won't find Dean at the hospital either.”

You whip around at the sudden voice. Startled and on guard, you eye the middle-aged man in front of you. You realize you had left the door slightly ajar, but you heard no footsteps indicating his arrival. You narrow your eyes. “Who are you?” Your voice is more hostile than you expect.

The balding man gives you a playful look, holding up his hands as a sign of peace. His dark-suited appearance portrays the character of a patronizing diplomat. “I apologize for startling you, but there's no need to be afraid.” There is an impish grin on his face when you remain defensive. “My name is Zachariah, and I am an angel. You may have met my subordinates, Castiel and Uriel?”

You blink in surprise. Hearing Castiel's name, you begin to lower your guard. “You're their boss?” You make a mental halt and shake your head of the technicality. You’ve more important things to focus on. “Where are the Winchesters? What’ve you done with them?”

Ignoring you, the middle-aged angel looks around the old motel room with disdain. He quickly hides the scrutiny with a half-hearted expression of nonchalance. With a snap of his fingers, a polished leather armchair appears behind him. You quirk an eyebrow at the show of indulgence. Sam's empty chair is only a foot away from him. The angel sits down and with a wave of his hand, the door to your room closes, jerking your attention to the apparent loss of freedom. You begin to feel increasingly on edge.

“Wouldn't want outsiders to hear our conversation. It would probably put us in a compromising position.”

You pull your eyes back to Zachariah, and you notice he is scanning you with a measured look. His gaze holds a certain unsettling interest as he watches your rising tension.

“I'm not going to hurt you, you know. And you needn't worry about Sam or Dean. They're currently undergoing a... rehabilitation of sorts to uh... rekindle their willpower.”

Your frown deepens into a glare, not buying his story. “Where are they?” You ask again.

Zachariah exhales and his smile becomes patronizing. “They're currently in the Big Apple, living the dream, with no recollection whatsoever of being hunters and fighting monsters.”

You pull back in confusion. “Why?”

 “Because they were tired, of course!”

You suddenly recall Dean's conversation with Castiel.

“Look, here's the thing.” Zachariah begins as he leans forward in his chair, fingers interlocking and elbows resting on his knees. “Dean was feeling kinda down, and he was telling Castiel that he didn't quite feel up to the job of stopping Lucifer anymore. And well, we can't really have that.”

Your brows knit. “So you wipe their memories and give them a normal life instead? How would that help?”

The angel grins with a knowing look. “To show them that they can't escape fate.”

Your eyes harden.

“You think they're happy now that they're living safe and ordinary lives?” The angel gives a laughing scoff. “They hate it! I can practically feel the gnawing dissatisfaction inside the two of them.” Zachariah chuckles as if this whole situation was some sort of inside joke. “They will eventually see that being hunters and fighting monsters are what they were bred to do. It's destiny. It's in their blood. And when they finally accept it, we can all progress along with our roles as fate would have it.” He slides his eyes to you with a pointed look. “You'll have your own part to play when the time comes.”

You stare back with a stony expression. “Fate, huh?” You utter as you sit down at the edge of Sam's bed. “You seem quite confident that we'll do what you expect.”

The imperious look on his face dilutes with just a speck of pity. “I can understand why this may seem a bit grating to you. People often feel indignant to the idea of how little power they actually hold over their own destinies.”

You let the jab glance off you. You’ve played this game before. He’s trying to push your buttons, poking to see where you’re most tender. Memories of back alley dealings and encounters with various unscrupulous characters run through your mind. It’s a behavior usually exhibited by people with power. Find out what makes your opponents tick, what gets them all hot and bothered. The first person to react loses. The fact that an angel is using such a salacious and _human_ tactic fills you with an odd amusement. The edges of your lips twitch.

“You may be surprised. Humans can become most unpredictable during times of adversity. Just when you think you've got us all figured out, we'll pull something the last minute that no one will ever see coming.”

“It's adorable that you still see yourself as one of them when you're not even human.”

Your confidence falters, betrayed on your face for a second. His eyes flash at the reveal. You lift your chin and regather your wits. Not yet. You’ve not lost yet.

This Zachariah has the eyes of a predator, and from the way he watches you, it’s clear he’s someone who’s used to being on top. The prim-suit, the armchair; all shows of power. He’s a man—or rather angel who likely has no qualms about exerting _force_ over others to get what he wants. Pride is what keeps his nose so high, and the confidence in his ability to ingrain _respect_ in the hearts of his subordinates must be what feeds his ever present ego. You wonder if his idea of respect is synonymous to _fear_. You’re starting to see how Castiel became so grimly stringent and Uriel so caustic. To be under the charge of someone like _this,_ it’s no wonder… You think you might like him even less than Uriel.

Letting out a humorless laugh, you return to your previous distant countenance. “I've come to terms with being immortal. Nonetheless, I've lived my entire life as a human, as is my origin, even if I don't know when I got this mark.” Your eyes slide to your wrist before you give him a conciliatory smile. “So yes. I will continue to align my interests with that of humanity.”

Zachariah tilts his head and smirks, revealing a string of white teeth. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Poor little girl. You have no idea how wrong you are about yourself.”

Your smile falls. Before you can demand an answer, the goading angel disappears, leaving you frustratingly in the dark. You clench your teeth in a scowl, simmering in anger. In an effort to calm your thoughts, you close your eyes.

So Zachariah has information that you don’t, or he wants you to believe that he does. Either way, it’s a card he’s holding that you’d rather not be in his hand. How much leverage does it give him? How would he use it against you? Your nails dig into the center of your palms. You need to find out the truth. With you under heaven’s thumb and Lilith on your tail, the longer you remain in the dark the more precarious your situation becomes.

You snatch your left wrist and press two fingers over the pulse, feeling the erratic beat. _Calm down, Alice. You’re not defenseless._ _Just because he’s privy to some secret about you doesn’t mean he’s got you pinned. Blood and genes are only part of a person after all…_

Finding the solid base in your mind, your pulse slows back to a steady rhythm. Sighing, you take a look around the room. Sam and Dean are still gone, and though Zachariah says they’re safe, you’re not likely to trust his word… _ever_. You pause. Still, there is _one_ angel you do feel like trusting.

“Castiel?” you call out, looking around the room expectantly. The celestial did say that you were able to summon him in your sleep. So it should work twice as well when you're awake… right? You spin around the room again, beginning to feel like an idiot.

“What is it?”

You jump at the sudden voice, starting to sympathize with Dean's irritation at Castiel's form of arrival. Turning around to face the trench-coated angel, you force the edges of your mouth into a polite upturn instead. The smile falls when you see his face. “What's wrong?”

Castiel cants his head, the shadows hanging off his face are darkened by an additional crease in his brow. “I don't know what you mean.”

You stare at him for another second. You don’t know if angels can suffer from insomnia, but the one before you looks as though he’s lost a century’s worth of sleep in just a few days. His face is borderline ashen, but the emotion is reigned back with a steely mask. However, his eyes betray him, and the twin blue orbs now waver with an ocean of turmoil. It doesn’t take a genius to know that something’s bothering him.   

You sigh, cursing at how easily that look affects you. _Damn eyes._ Swallowing your self-aggravation, you decide to push aside your concerns for the moment. You rub the back of your neck rather awkwardly, keeping your gaze on the floor. “I don't know. You just seem... unsettled.”

Castiel lifts his head and squares his shoulders. “Demons are trying to bring about the apocalypse. Unsettled are what all the angels should be right now.”

What you meant as concern has somehow made him defensive instead. Even as you keep him in your peripherals, you can see him straighten, pulling to his full height. You don’t know if the behavior is conscious or not, but you believe he wants to appear stronger, _invulnerable._ You shake your head. “No, that's not what I meant…” You trail off, wondering if it’s even worth pursuing. Your irritation at yourself grows. “I don't mean to be intrusive, but it seems like you're shaken up about something more personal...”

You catch a bristle in the corner of your vision, but when he doesn’t say anything, you drag your attention over to him again. You suddenly remember his request to Dean before Uriel so forcibly dragged him away. Angels are being _killed_ … You reluctantly meet his gaze, bracing yourself for what you might perceive in it. “Did you happen to find out who it was killing your friends?”

It’s as though you sliced him. The distinct look of pain in his eyes, so sharp and poignant it makes you cringe. You’re impressed at how well he suppressed it. You wonder if all angels are like this, displaying their private emotions so acutely upon their regard. With Uriel, it was disgust; with Zachariah, disdain; and with Castiel… discord?

The only times you’d see such unguarded eyes are in small children when they’ve not yet learned to deal with pain. When they grow, as all humans do, they learn to numb themselves, to rationalize, to repress, or to conceal their pain with feigned indifference and placid smiles so the world will never see how broken they really are, how broken you all are. You’re struck by the realization that this one difference is caused by their own lack of experience to emotional suffering; their utter _innocence_ to the pains of humanity.

Castiel drops his gaze to the ground before you can’t take it anymore. “Yes.”

You begin to feel it, the wafting gloom drifting from his angelic self. The emotion is tinged in self-reproach and doubt. This is nothing like the solemnity you sensed from him a few days ago, this sentiment is much heavier… _pungent._ It’s a surprise that angels can even feel this level of emotion; they always seemed so detached...

The words “what’s wrong” linger on the tip of your tongue, but you clamp your mouth shut. There’s an inner battle raging within you, incited by the angel’s distress. The knee-jerk reaction is sympathy, but do you really want to involve yourself in his problems when you’ve already got a truck full of your own? And with Zachariah, Castiel’s _boss_ , now on your list of potential enemies, the smart move would be to distance yourself from ange—

“It was Uriel.”

Silence.

Your mind halts. All processes and thoughts have come to a screeching stop. If your brain was a machine, a few cogs might have spun off. You stare slack-jawed at Castiel. “Uriel?” you repeat as though you didn’t hear him correctly, and frankly, you really think you haven’t.

Castiel brings his solemn gaze to yours, his painful truth burns behind his irises and they send the piercing emotion straight at you. You look away.

“Uriel felt that there was something wrong with the orders we were given. He decided he wanted to help bring on the apocalypse.” Castiel closes his eyes. “He was able to convince some of the angels from our garrison. He killed the ones who wouldn't join him.”

Your mind churns, the process is not unlike how a worker might smash a crowbar against the gears of a giant machine in an effort to dislodge whatever obstruction. You can feel the metaphorical teeth of your intellect chewing against the jagged chunks of information so you may break it down, digest, and hopefully assimilate into your psyche. You’ve only recently absorbed that angels are _willing_ and _capable_ of killing humans, then swallowed a few days ago that they can _die_ and be _killed_ , and **now** , you’re expected to force down your gullet the fact that they can also commit _murder_ against their _own_ kind? You need a stiff drink.

“And... where is he now?”

“Dead.”

You can’t say you’re not relieved. But that twisting look on his face… You stare up at him with a discomfited expression. … _Did he…?_

“It was another angel who killed him,” Castiel answers your silent question, his face morphing with regret… or is it melancholy? You’re not sure which. “If she hadn't, I wouldn't be here.”

So someone had saved him from the brink… You're taken aback. You didn't realize there was so much happening behind the scenes. The fact that Castiel narrowly escaped death seems foreign to you. _Why?_ You wonder. If the past few days taught you anything, it’s that _everything_ has an expiry date. But the possibility of _this particular angel_ dying… makes you kind of sad… 

You scrutinize the celestial before you. To your eyes, he’s become a walking contradiction. He bears the body of a full-grown man but displays the vulnerability of an innocent wide-eyed child. He’d called himself your guard, even carries himself like a soldier. He’s physically substantial, and yet he has absolutely no defense against emotional wounds.

Castiel, the angel who was demoted for failing to follow the execution order of a thousand humans, who showed reluctance when Dean was forced to confront Alistair, and who is now experiencing deep, personal strife because of what a former ally had tried to do. How great was the betrayal? Were they just colleagues or were they friends?

From the fact that he was punished for his empathy, you can only surmise what the heavenly order values: duty and deference, without question… and therefore without sentiment. The revelation unveils a trenchant view into their world, utterly gray and devoid of life. So angels have existed without emotion. That would explain a lot; why Zachariah and Uriel had been so callous. They’ve never experienced sadness. …Does that also mean they don’t know happiness?

You pause. Your logic is flawed. _Clearly._ Is the angel in front of you not bursting with emotion right now? Your brain continues to labor against the discrepancy. Is this just another addition to Castiel’s contradictions or is this something more? Your only other points of reference are Zachariah and Uriel. You think back to your interactions with the late celestial, remembering how the derision in his gaze seemed to mount after every meeting. Is it possible… that the longer an angel remains on Earth the more they grow to feel? You backtrack. It’s quite a stretch for a hypothesis.

But if it _is_ true…

Your eyes narrow as you take in Castiel’s form.

Then it’d be a shame if he died. He’s only just begun to touch upon the intricacies of humanity, only skirted the outer edge of complex emotions. Grief, happiness, sacrifice, love... Your brain surges with possibilities. There’s so much _potential_ here—you’re getting off track. 

Another thought breaches the forefront of your mind, snapping your attention and injecting you with alarm. You jerk your head towards him, your gaze hard. “I thought you said the primary mission of angels is to _protec_ t humans, and that _all_ angels are faithful to that.” You don’t reign back the accusation in your tone. You know your words will cut him, but a creeping premonition takes precedence.

Castiel grimaces. “That... is what I thought. It seems I was mistaken.”

There’s a sinking feeling in your gut. In the depths of your mind, you feel as though something has gone terribly wrong. You grit your teeth, your thoughts a whirlwind. “Why did Uriel think there was something wrong with the orders he was getting? Aren't you all directly commanded by God?”

And then you see it. The pang of pain, a face full of uncertainty. “I don't know anymore…”

You pale. Fast as lightning, you shoot across the room and grab the lapels of the angel’s coat. Your actions surprise him, but you’re too alarmed to evaluate your conduct. Fear thickens in the linings of your stomach and it floods your veins with urgency. Self-preservation propels you and you _need_ to know. How great is the danger here? Just how many enemies should you be watching for? You raise yourself on tiptoes and stare into his eyes, diving through their depths to search for even a hint of the thing you _don’t_ want to find. You unclench your jaw. “Are you doubting your mission too? Do you no longer think humanity's worth protecting?”

Anger flares in his gaze and Castiel glares at you. “I never said that.”

You keep your eyes locked on his, waiting for the signs of doubt to appear. When his fury prevails under your scrutiny, you ease back and retract your hand. He’s seething, and you realize he’s taken the allegation as slander. You move a few steps back and mutter an apology. You don’t want to get on his bad side, especially when he’s the one angel you don’t have to guard against. You turn around to frown at the spot Zachariah last occupied.

Castiel’s inability to shield his emotions would allow you to see through any lie, but how long before someone changes his mind? It’s painfully clear that this guy’s ignorant of politics, which leaves him vulnerable to mental entrapments. It would be easy for someone like Zachariah to manipulate him. Tug a few heartstrings in the right direction, mutter the lines “ _for the greater good..._ ”. How many virtuous people have committed unspeakable deeds because they were swayed by false words?

You glance at Sam’s laptop when the screen shuts off. But, wait. You reconsider your thoughts. Why are you so ready to paint Zachariah as a villain? So he’s not the humblest angel you’ve met, that doesn’t automatically mean he’s the opposition. Still, with the stakes so high, keeping so many eggs in one basket would just be tempting fate.

You turn back to Castiel, catching his attention with your expectant gaze. “If you don't know, why don't you just go see him? Go see God.” The words feel odd coming from your mouth.

The angel seems to wilt. He shakes his head. “It's not that simple. Angels at my level aren't told much. We're soldiers, created to follow orders without question. Only the archangels are granted presence with God.”

You think you can hear your basket of eggs breaking apart already. You step towards him, brows raised high in the most incredulous expression. You can't believe it. You _literally_ cannot believe it. “Are you telling me, _you_ , an angel, have never met God?”

Castiel surrenders a hesitating nod.

“But you’ve _seen_ God, right?”

His expression tightens.

Your mouth opens in a soundless exclamation, closing again when no words avail you. You bring a hand to the top of your head, threading it through your hair. You whirl back and forth, darting your vision from one wall to the other, trying to grasp the words that would convey the utter lunacy of what this angel has revealed. It’s pandemonium inside your skull, and it’s taking all you have to keep your composure.

“So...” you push through your teeth. “There are angels like Uriel who can just decide to go rogue. You've never even _seen_ God, so you don't know who's actually giving out orders, and there are legions of angels down the chain who will just follow these orders without question...?” You veer back to Castiel in sheer exasperation. “Am I the only person who thinks this sounds **insane**?”

Pinned under your glower, Castiel is unable to look away. Although he’s trying to defend himself with a glare, you see the battle within. In the end, all he offers is a wordless silence, and your hand slips from your hair over your eyes. You throw an aggravated scowl at the walls.

_Of all the useless…!_

You find your irritation at this celestial mounting. _Okay. Focus, Alice. You’re not out of the running yet. This is information; you’ve just found out the rules. So what if the referee’s out? It’s not like you haven’t played against people in a rigged game before. The opponents are just bigger… and badder… and the **planet** to forfeit if you lose—Goddammit! _ You swear under your breath, letting out a long exhale before you rearrange your thoughts. _C’mon, Alice! Think of something you can use._ _Anything!_ You stiffen when a thought hits you. Slowly, you swivel in the angel’s direction again. “What are _you_ going to do?”

Castiel, who had been following your movements, blinks like a deer caught in the headlights. Curiosity and confusion are written all over his face.

 “If you think there's something wrong at the top of your food chain, are _you_ also just going to keep following orders?”

Castiel stares at you in a mixture of affronted shock and speechlessness. He opens his mouth but seems unable to form the words. He’s obviously never been put on the spot before, especially by someone like you. “We're made to follow orders...” he utters through his teeth.

_Then you might as well stamp the word “pawn” on your forehead._ Your temper flares, but you bite back the vicious comment. “Uriel has proven that angels can act independently.”

His eyes flash, but the glare is weakened by specks of desperation. “You're asking me to commit disobedience.”

You take another step forward, closing the distance between you. “Are you a machine, Castiel? Are you just a weapon, a **pawn**? Because you've shown me that angels can have wills of their own, regardless of where they are in the chain of command. But now I need to know if you'd be able to act on that will. Especially if you find out that something is wrong...” You jab at the ceiling. “Up there.”

An internal struggle recommences. It’s a storm within his eyes. Castiel clenches his jaw.

You keep pushing, pressing where you know will hurt the most. “You of all beings should have a conscience. To know right from wrong!”

He shuts his eyes. “Alice,” Castiel says through his teeth. “To disobey is to go against our very nature.”

You see the chaos inside him and you suddenly realize… despite all their holy power, angels are just as afraid. Your gaze softens and your voice lowers to a whisper. “Look at me, Castiel.”

His eyes flutter open, vulnerability shining under his lashes.

“Ask yourself one question. Do you _want_ to protect us? Do _you_ think humans are worth protecting?”

Castiel's eyes widen. Your question seems to have brought about a startling revelation.

At the look on his face, you allow a small comforting smile to fall over your lips. You ease back the earlier pressure you've been piling against him. “If you have your answer, then I trust you'll do what you think is right when the time comes.”

Castiel visibly relaxes. His head high again, he turns to you with an almost grateful expression. “And if the outcome isn't what you were hoping for, or if my actions happen to be insufficient.”

You give him a wry grin. “All we can ever ask of anyone is their best. I trust life will take care of the rest with or without us.”

…

 

After assuring you of Dean and Sam's eventual return, Castiel left. You're now alone in the motel room with your thoughts. You feel like you're being crushed under the weight of all you've discovered today. You find yourself sympathizing with Dean more and more. Is this what he feels like all the time? Being tossed back and forth between angels and demons. You can see why Sam is so adamant on protecting his brother.

You sink back onto your bed, setting your elbows on your knees and interlacing the fingers in front of your face. You’ve known for a while now that someone like Castiel shouldn’t be a part of this war. And after the conversation you just had and how easily you were able to influence his thoughts and emotions, your original assertion has only been affirmed. At first glance, his appearance makes him look distant and unfeeling, but underneath… he’s soft. _He’s kind…_ You shake your head at the small amendment. _Kind_ … _not to mention innocent. Not exactly key traits you’d want when you’re caught in a war for world domination._ You roll your eyes at the clichéd description, but what else would you call it? If the demons win, apocalypse begins and Lucifer gets the planet. And if the angels win…

You tilt your head.

If the angels win… what do they get? Just much of the same? Have the world move on as it does normally? You somehow have a hard time believing that. This entire only-archangels-get-to-meet-God business reeks worse than a dumpster full of week-old seafood.

The angels are fighting against the demons _supposedly_ under God’s will. **But!** If God wanted to stop the apocalypse, to stop Lilith from breaking the seals, how difficult would it be for an all-knowing, omnipotent being to snuff out one demon? _He’s **God** , for goodness’ sake. _…Unless he’s watching all of this and _wants_ it to happen … Like some sort of test?

You close your eyes and rub your temples. You may not have been an atheist, but you didn’t even know angels existed until a week ago. The very idea of there now being a _God_ who’s watching all of this unfold is cracking apart your rationality like a pickaxe to a rock. You immediately shut the book on the subject. You’re asking for an aneurysm if you’re trying to contemplate the motive and logic of the Almighty. Erasing the mess of thoughts, you move back to the original problem: Lilith and the angels. Lilith wants you for something, or so the angels said. And after Sam and Dean explained the celestials’ readiness to smite an entire town to stop one seal, you’ve pretty much forgone the idea that heaven is simply protecting you out of the goodness of their hearts. If the opposition wanted you to achieve an end, all the angels had to do is kill you. They’ve had plenty of chances, and yet they didn’t take it. They even sent one of their own to guard you. That can only mean that they have their own plans for you. Castiel once told you the angels don’t know why Lilith wants you and you let out a laugh. _He_ would believe that. You remember Zachariah’s words.

_~“…we can all progress along with our roles as fate would have it.” He slides his eyes to you with a pointed look. “You'll have your own part to play when the time comes…”_

_“…Poor little girl. You have no idea how wrong you are about yourself...”~_

You narrow your gaze. There’s something about the way he said it that makes you doubt you’re going to like what the celestials have in store for you. Your dislike of Zachariah only grows as you replay the memory of him. But he _is_ right about one thing. You know way too little about this… about _you_ … about everything. So what do you _do_?

You stand up from your bed and pace the room.

Sam’s coffee still sits untouched next to his laptop. _Waste not want not._ You walk over to the desk and grab the cup. The movement causes enough stir to wake the computer out of its sleep mode. You see the screen display the last webpage Sam was on, some article about missing people. Flashing on the right side of the page is an AD for an online poker game.

You give a sardonic smile. What do you do?

You hedge your bets.  

An idea forms in your mind and you hush the guilty conscience. Words, actions, and possible outcomes bubble in your prefrontal cortex until they mix into a sparkling cocktail of procedures and strategies. Having help from the Winchesters is nice, but it’s not gonna be enough. On top of protection from Lilith, if you don’t know what heaven wants from you then you need protection from the angels as well. You require _information,_ and there’s only one source you can get it from. You’ve been hesitant because you weren’t sure if the situation warranted such measures. You didn’t want to risk throwing someone under the bus just to double your own security. But now, things are different. Zachariah made pretty clear on that. When your own safety’s concerned, you’ll fight tooth and nail to survive. But when it’s the entire world… on which everything you love depends, you’ll do anything to protect it… even if it means using an innocent angel.

 

* * *

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!! Reviewers get to a one-on-one discussion with Castiel!**

 


	5. The Mercurial Nature of Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice reveals more about her past as she teams up with the Winchesters on a new case.  
> ~  
> Your face scrunches at Dean’s ridiculous suggestion. “Are you kidding me? Of course not. How many hunters do you know work desk jobs after a day of stabbing monsters in the face?” You place an elbow onto the table and lean on it, mirroring his posture. “Hunting's a full-time job, even for an immortal like me.”  
> Dean scoffs.  
> Sam sits down on the bed with a thoughtful expression. “So, how did you make enough money to support yourself? If you don’t mind me asking.” On the other bed are Dean’s bag and jacket. He casts a glance at the wallet poking out from the pocket as if in indication. “Credit card fraud?”  
> ~

So much for your plans.

You expire a small breath and look out the passenger window. Your thumb plays with the corner page of the book you’re holding. Dean is driving and Sam is on his laptop, reading some journal article he downloaded last night. You stare off into the distance, having long forgotten which road you’re on. Empty farmland stretches as far as the eye can see and the cloudy weather seems to convey your current mood perfectly.  

You had been fully prepared to engage Castiel. You even came up with a mental list of all the questions you would ask and ran through different scenarios of discussions you would maneuver to your benefit. Yet, again and again, you’ve had to hold off your schemes because the key component is constantly absent. With Uriel’s demise and the other angels he had taken with him, you suppose Castiel was left to pick up the slack.

_Three days have passed since you confronted Castiel, and the angel still hadn’t shown himself. Although the Winchesters did return as promised and with Dean fully healed, the mental state they were in didn’t relieve you of any pressures. You told them of your encounter with Zachariah and they recounted a similar meeting._

_“All this fate, destiny crap. They’re treating us like puppets,” Dean growled out from his seat at the table. His fingers curled against the wooden edge. You were in complete agreement. Unfortunately, when you asked if Zachariah had mentioned anything about his plans for you or about Lilith, the response was a sorely disappointing no._

_You were frustrated but not surprised. The good news, however, was that Sam and Dean liked Zachariah and his machinations about as much as you did. The angel seemed to love speaking in riddles and lording his knowledge over others. But even with all the overbearing traits, Dean was sure the angels were desperate to win against Lilith._

_You didn’t contest him._

_While you exchanged what you learned with the brothers, you did keep a few details to yourself, namely the conversation with Castiel. With what you’ve seen of the men, Dean especially, the last thing you needed was to have them cause a big scene and confront Zachariah about the presence of God. If it was found out that Castiel had been the one to invoke the discourse because of his insecurities, then you’d lose the one leak you had about heaven. Besides, no matter how shady the circumstances were, you still had no proof. If you let Zachariah and the other angels know just how deep your suspicions of them ran, they might decide you were more trouble than you were worth and dispose of you all together._

_So when you could wait no longer, you called Castiel’s name. His arrival was prompt as always. Upon examining his face, you saw that the three days’ absence had done him some good. His gaze was back to its stoic blue, full of confidence and certainty. He must have gotten over Uriel’s death. You weren’t sure if the improvement is a favorable sign. When Castiel asked why you called him, you immediately questioned his absence. He was supposed to be your guard, wasn’t he? How was he going to supervise or protect you if he was away? You tried to appear as docile as possible._

_“I’ve been busy fighting to keep the other seals from Lilith. Our forces aren’t limitless. But you needn’t worry. The mark Uriel burned on your shoulder allows us to monitor your whereabouts at all times. Even if I’m not here, heaven will always be watching over you.”_

_Castiel’s words nearly stopped your heart. Your face was blank; you didn’t allow any emotions to show through. He must have thought you were relieved because he disappeared a second later, leaving you still in the dark and more anxious than ever._

You turn back to the book in your hand, reading the same paragraph for the third time.

Even dead, Uriel continues to be a thorn in your side. Thanks to him, your every action could be subject to scrutiny. Just how closely are the angels _watching over_ you? Now that you know you’re under surveillance, you’ll have to be even more careful of your words and actions.

You were hoping the Supernatural books might offer some insight, but other than a view into the Winchester’s personal histories, there isn’t much else you can learn. It does provide a good distraction though. Their hunts are informative and quite telling of their characters. You discovered more about their personalities in one afternoon of reading than you probably would have in a month of traveling with them.  

“Don't think I don't know what you're reading back there.”

You glance up from the back seat, setting the book down on your lap. You raise an eyebrow at Dean's comment. You had made sure to add an additional cover to the book so the brothers wouldn't find out. “What are you talking about, Dean?” you ask innocently.

Dean scowls. You can see his reflection in the rearview mirror. “The book you're reading. Stop it.”

You raise said book, showing the cover. “You mean Twilight? It's not that bad if you give it a chance.”

Dean takes one hand off the steering wheel and reaches around to snatch the book from you. Ignoring your protest, he shakes off the new cover, revealing the book’s true title. He shoots you a peeved look through the mirror before tossing the book to Sam. It lands with a clutter on Sam’s laptop, startling the younger Winchester who had been ignoring the two of you with his reading.

“Can't believe anyone would read this garbage.”

Sam sighs. Glaring at his brother in annoyance, he opens the glove compartment and tosses the novel in. “You can't exactly call it garbage when it's talking about _our_ lives.”

“Well, his writing's garbage!” Dean huffs out, his nostrils flaring. “And it's a complete invasion of my privacy. You know he put in all the times I had sex. Like _all_ of them. Who does that!?”

The three of you had just come from the town where an apparent prophet named Chuck Shirley resided. When Sam and Dean had discovered a series of books called Supernatural, which depicted their secret lives in great detail, they became adamant on finding the author. To the surprise of everyone, including the author himself, the writing of the Winchester's lives were actually prophecies.

Chuck Shirley, pen named Carver Edlund, is a prophet of the Lord, fated to record the misadventures of Sam and Dean. Someday, these books would become the Winchester Gospels. You had nearly cracked a rib from laughter when Castiel said that. During this discovery, the prophet had written out the coming events for the Winchesters, and with his help, a near disastrous situation involving Lilith was narrowly avoided.

“Hey, you heard what Castiel said. These books will one day be Gospels.” Your lips twitch at the word. “It's only right that I should be reading them.” You know Dean will probably throw the book in the trash later, not that you’re concerned. You had actually paid Chuck for an electronic copy of all his published manuscripts behind the brothers’ backs, and you’ll take that secret to your grave.

Dean scrunches his lips, opening and closing them in an attempt to tell you off. He can't seem to find his words.

You tilt your head to the side, reveling in their discomfort. You’re not ashamed to admit that teasing the men, Dean, in particular, has become somewhat of a favorite pastime. He just gets riled up so easily. It’s also a great way to lighten the tension… _your_ tension. “I wonder what they'll name this new religion. Winchester-ianity? Winchesterism? Wincest?”

At the last word, Dean turns around and jabs his index finger toward you. “You shut the hell up right now.”

You put on a pliant smile, inwardly shaking with mirth.

Dean twists back to the front, swatting the air in frustration. “I swear to God, I'm gonna burn every one of those books.”

You just can’t help yourself. “Soon, people will be swearing to the names of Sam and Dean.”

The impala screeches to a halt.

 

*

“Hey guys, come look at this,” Sam says, gesturing to you and Dean.

You look up from your smoothie and plate of pasta to see what Sam is looking at. Dean turns around in his chair, his mouth still full of his burger.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“That.” Sam points to the wall a foot away from the table you're all sitting at. Pinned on the wall are all sorts of posters for events, advertisements, and a few missing persons reports.

You scan the print. Chris O’Reily, age 34, missing since Oct 24. Wayne Smith, age 30, missing since Sept 19. Carly Thatcher, age 28, missing since Oct 2. There are at least five more reports. You scratch the bump on the side of your head, still throbbing from hitting it on the back of Dean's seat when he slammed on the brakes. You might have loosened your seat belt a bit too much.

“They're all around the same age,” you muse.

“Hmm.” Dean makes a noise as he swallows his mouthful. “Missing around the same time as well. Think this is related to our line of work?”

Sam shrugs. “Dunno. But since we're here, might as well take a look.”

Dean lifts his brow with a half-lidded gaze, seeming more or less in agreement. He slides his eyes to you when he notices you rubbing your head. He grins. “How's that bump treating ya?”

You stare back with a tight smile. “Like I was blessed by a Winchester.”

Dean's grin drops, looking ready to throw something at you.

Sam holds up his hand between you two. “Guys, please stop.”

*

After lunch at the diner, the three of you drove to the nearest motel. Sam, deciding to be the mature one, kept you and Dean from making any more jabs at each other. Although you quite enjoyed the quipping, you decided to put a pin in your fun. Everything in moderation, people always say.

You walk up to the receptionist with a slight spring in your step. It's been a while since you were last able to joke around with someone, and the feeling brings a smile to your face. With all the stress you’ve been under, you didn’t think you’d be in such a good mood so soon. You’ll have to thank the Winchesters for that.

Before Sam can pull out his wallet, you’re already placing your credit card on the counter. The receptionist, seeming to be in his early 30s, studies the three of you with an inquisitive air. 

“Alice, you really don’t have to—”

You wave off his objections and push the plastic further across the surface. “Room for three please.”

“Oh no, you don't.” Dean cuts in before the man can swipe the plastic. “Two rooms. One for us,” he gestures to himself and Sam. “And one just for her.”

You give Dean a strange look. “Why? It's a waste of money.”

“You know why.” Dean mouths the words accusingly.

Sam leans slightly towards his brother with a sheepish expression. “I kinda have to agree.”

You stare at the men incredulously. When they don't respond, you roll your eyes. “Fine.” You relent with a huff and turn back to the clerk. “Two rooms.”

After receiving your keys, you and the Winchesters part ways. Sam tells you to go to their suite once you've arranged your things. You let out a sigh as you toss your belongings onto the double bed. You really do think the boys are acting rather childish. The small incident that prompted such reactions?

In the last motel room you occupied together, you took a shower and forgot to bring a fresh change of clothes. So rather than wearing dirty laundry, you just walked out in your towel. You were all adults, and you had no desire to fake coyness and ask the men if they could pass your bag through a door slit like a teenage girl. You never expected they’d cause such a fuss over it. When they saw you exiting the bathroom as you were, Sam's eyes nearly bulged out of his head and Dean chocked into a hacking cough on his doughnut. You’d think they’ve never seen a woman’s body before. Although, in their defense, the towel might have been a tad small.

You head out of your room and towards the one next to yours, raising a hand to knock. Sam is the one who opens the door. He moves back to the far bed to continue rummaging through his backpack. Dean is sitting at the table near the entrance with his back to you. In front of him are the copies of the missing person’s reports you had gathered after lunch. He flips through the pages rapidly then writes something down in a notebook.

“Seriously, guys? Are two rooms really necessary?” you ask with crossed arms.

“Yes, they are,” Dean answers matter-of-factly. He doesn’t even turn around.

You close the door behind you and stalk to the chair across from Dean. “Just saying, we could've saved some money by getting the room with three beds.” You sit down, shaking your head at the wastefulness. “All this just because I have a v—”

“Don't say that word!” Dean cuts you off with a glare.  You notice Sam looking rather relieved and you roll your eyes again. _Boys._

“Speaking of which.” Dean anchors an arm on the table and leans forward. His eyes are narrowed and his lips pursed. The appearance reminds you of an interrogation officer. “Where _are_ you getting your money, anyways? Did you work outside of being a hunter?”

Sam, who was in the middle of setting up his laptop, stops and looks your way.

Your face scrunches at Dean’s ridiculous suggestion. “Are you kidding me? Of course not. How many hunters do you know work desk jobs after a day of stabbing monsters in the face?” You place an elbow onto the table and lean on it, mirroring his posture. “Hunting's a full-time job, even for an immortal like me.”

Dean scoffs.

Sam sits down on the bed with a thoughtful expression. “So, how did you make enough money to support yourself? If you don’t mind me asking.” On the other bed are Dean’s bag and jacket. He casts a glance at the wallet poking out from the pocket as if in indication. “Credit card fraud?”

“Nope.” You shake your head and chuckle. You don’t like stealing, particularly from people you don’t know. Sometimes it’s unavoidable, but you tend to use it as a last resort.

The two brothers look at you, waiting.

Your lips press together. You know there isn’t much harm in telling them the truth, but you’ve always been reluctant about sharing this aspect of your life. Now that you’ve painted yourself into a corner with your thoughtless remark, you’re afraid it might drive a wedge into their trust if you don’t give them a straight answer. A trust that you spent a long time forging. You only want to avoid this topic because you know how they’d react, how they’d might judge you. You also don’t like the reminder that you’re a lot more selfish than you’d like to admit.

 

_“I’m telling you, with skills like that, you oughta go to the casinos and hit it big. Win one for us small folks.”_

_You chuckled and reached for the packet of M &Ms you’d just won. The poker cards laid in a heap at the center of the scratched coffee table. You ripped the seal and dropped a few of the round chocolaty deliciousness into your mouth. Your roommate of six months looked at you from across the table, his worn tennis sneakers smeared a trail of dust on the recliner’s leather as he sat cross-legged. The two of you had found it on the street corner a few days before you moved in._

_You were 18, freshly out of the system and no longer under the law’s purview. With the life you lead, you had never allowed yourself to settle into whatever family the system provided for you. It was too dangerous. With Chris, however, the arrangement couldn’t be better. He was 22 and a college drop-out. He loved art; digital, illustrations, graffiti. He drifted through life following whims which meant lots of freelance work and odd hours. With his lifestyle and easy-going attitude, as long as you paid your portion of the rent, he didn’t care what you did, and the two of you rarely saw each other._

_“Yeah, right. They’ll probably kick me out ‘cause they’ll think I’m counting cards or something.”_

_Chris quirked a brow at you. “Aren’t you?”_

_You tossed another few M &Ms into your mouth. “I’m not nearly that smart. It’s just pure dumb luck.”_

_Chris grinned. You could tell he didn’t really believe you. But with five continuous wins of two full-houses, two four-of-a-kinds, and a royal flush, you couldn’t blame him. You didn’t know what it was. With any game that involved chance, you’d always win. Monopoly, Snakes and Ladders, pretty much everything involving dice._

_He rubbed his eyes. From the heaviness of the dark circles on his face, he must’ve pulled quite a few all-nighters this time. “Well, with luck like that, you should buy a lottery ticket.”_

_You snorted and laughed._

_But the comment stuck with you, and you spent a good portion of the night lying in bed fantasizing about what it would be like to be a millionaire. The next morning, as you passed a convenience store, you caught the winning total for the next potential winner. You decided to take Chris’s suggestion purely out of humor. The two of you would get a chuckle when the ticket turned out to be a dud._

_But two days later, the winning numbers came out and fear struck in the pit of your stomach. You were in the local library, researching when you checked the results on a whim. You sat there staring at the computer screen and the numbers on your ticket for nearly an hour._

_Within a week, you packed your things and left the city. When Chris returned, he would find a thank you note from you with a check enclosed._

 

It’s been seven years since that day. You wonder where your old roommate is now.

“Uh, hello?”

You snap out of your thoughts when Dean waves a hand in front of you. You glance from one questioning gaze to the other. Both men are waiting expectantly for your answer. Sighing, you rub the back of your neck before you speak. “I, uh… kinda won the lottery a few years back.”

You brace yourself for the inevitable badgering. But when neither says a word, you peer over to their faces. Sam and Dean share equally incredulous expressions and their brows are raised so high you think they might pop off entirely. The brothers are motionless as they continue to gawk at you. You tap a finger absentmindedly on the table while you wait for the response to sink in.

When they finally move again, Dean is the first to react. “You won the lottery?!” his voice is booming. “What? How did—.” He realizes his voice has jumped an octave and he clears his throat. Lowering back to his normal pitch, he asks you again. “How much?”

You tilt your head down slowly. “It... was... a lot. Enough to live out the rest of my life without worry.” The edge of your mouth jerks to the side. “Well, when I thought my lifespan was still human anyway.”

Dean's eye twitches. “So you're loaded.” He cants his head when he thinks of something. He flicks his hands towards you. “Why are you even here?”

You give him a blank look.

Sam interjects. “What he means is, why are you a hunter? When you can literally be anywhere else right now.”

You nod your head at the elaboration and a wry grin touches your mouth. “Not like it hasn't crossed my mind, but I was already hunting full-time by then. Whenever I thought about a vacation, something else would pop up, and I just couldn’t let it go.”

Sam nods, appearing to sympathize, but Dean’s perplexed gaze hasn’t changed. “You don’t look loaded.” He scrutinizes your clothes. “You don’t act like it either. Why even bother with motels anymore? And that comment about wasting money? What are you, Scrooge McDuck?”

His last remark makes you laugh. You lean forward on the table with both elbows and raise a finger. “One, what’s the point in wearing fancy clothes if you’re gonna get blood and dirt on them?” You raise a second finger. “Two, you think demons and monsters will give two shits whether or not I have money?” You raise a third finger. “And three, motels are a hunter’s best friend because there’s virtually no security.” You lean back and sling your arm over the chair’s backrest. “I am how I am because I know what’s it’s like to scrounge for money. Just because I’m a lot better off now doesn’t mean I don’t find unnecessary waste… wasteful.”

Dean takes in a slow breath and leans back in his seat as well. He gives you an appraising once-over before the interrogative edge in his eyes finally dissolves. The man seems successfully convinced.

But you’re not.

He raises an eyebrow at your expression. “Why are you looking at us like that?”

“You’re not gonna call me on my hypocrisy?”

Dean pulls back. “What are you talking about?”

You run your tongue across the back of your teeth and drop your gaze to the table. “I just told you I know what it feels like to scrounge for money. I’ve also told you I grew up an orphan. And instead of making an honest living, donating my money to charity, or helping others who are in a similar situation, I choose to run across the country skirting the law, killing monsters, and playing hero with no responsibilities simply because I can.” Self-reproach starts to well in your stomach. You chuckle darkly at your own words.

You’ve long come to terms with the flaws in your character, but it still makes you cringe when you dwell on it. You’re selfish, amazingly so. No matter how many people you’ve saved, how many you’ve helped, you know you’re not hunting for them. You’re hunting for _you._

There’s always been this… _something_ inside you, something that you can’t define. This _unrest_ that plagues you since you could remember. Like an incessant itch you can’t scratch because it’s deep under your skin. Like you’re not doing what you’re supposed to, what you should.

Going to school and trying to mold yourself like the people around you didn’t help. It always seemed like you were on the outside looking in, but it never felt like a bad thing. People liked you, and you knew you _belonged_ , just not in the way that felt _right_ to you. Discovering the supernatural and hunting helped, but even then there was still this _something_ that remained off. You want to know what it is you’re feeling and yet, at the same time, you’re also afraid to find out. It’s the same _something_ that’s been driving you, making you run away… or run to, you don’t know.

But in recent years, you’ve gotten better at blocking it out, forgetting it all together on some days. However, in the end, when you do remember and you look yourself in the mirror, you don’t like what you see.

“I think you’re being a little hard on yourself.” Sam stands up and walks next to his brother. He deliberates his words and rests a hand on the backrest of Dean’s seat. “So what if you’re not giving your money away or lending a hand to every unfortunate soul that crosses your path? It’s not like you’re frivolously squandering your assets and doing nothing with your life. Being a hunter, you’re still saving people—”

“But I do this because I think it’s _fun._ Not because I actually care.” You grimace. Why are you still talking? Why are you even challenging this? What is to be gained?

You feel the outpour of words flooding from your mouth, but you can’t stop it for some reason. “You guys got into this because the life found you. You save people from vampires and other things that go bump in the night because you don’t want others to have to go through the loss that’s been dealt to you. But not me. _I_ chose this life… even when I’ve lost nothing. There are people who have to deal with their mortality every day, and I’m just gambling it away on every hunt simply because I _want_ to.” You look away from them to the window. You realize all the irritation from the past few days has come rushing back.

Why are you here? Why were you even dragged into this? Just what does life _want_ from you? What do Lilith and the angels _want_ from you? You’ve been living in stagnation, waiting and searching, and you’re so tired of it. Just what is it that you’re _supposed_ to do?

“Are you trying to get us to pity you or to hate you?”

Your eyes flit to Dean. He’s wearing a sincerely confused face, but his words are harsh. “So you’re not Mother Teresa. How many of us are? And for the record, just because we were originally thrown into this life, doesn’t mean we’re not still making a conscious decision every day to stay in it. I mean, what’s so bad about living a life you enjoy? It’s _your_ life. If you’re feeling bad about some the decisions you made, then fix it. It’s not like you don’t have the means. Quit with the woe-is-me look.”

You take a breath, feeling rather affronted. You don’t know what expression you were making, but you wipe it off your face. “I wasn’t trying to get you to do anything. I was just telling you the truth,” you say defensively. “You wanted to know a little bit about me. This is who I am.”

Dean clearly doesn’t buy your front. “Christ, all we asked for was where you were getting your funds, not your sad philosophy on life.”

You bite your tongue on a retort, kicking yourself for even bothering to open up. “Sorry for oversharing, guys. Promise that won’t happen anymore.” You reach out and grab one of the missing person’s report, wanting nothing more than to end the discussion. From the corner of your eye, you notice Sam giving his brother an admonishing look, to which Dean responds with a shrug and two open palms.

“Alice.” Sam’s soft voice implores for your attention.

You expire a breath, still obviously peeved with Dean’s dismissive comments, and look up.

He offers you a kind smile. “I’m happy that you were able to tell us all that. It shows how much you _trust_ us.” He emphasizes the word with a pointed look to Dean. “We’re working together now, and we’re all in the same boat. It’s good that we’re getting to know each other better. And for the record, even though you’re guilty for whatever reason, it doesn’t matter what that reason is because at the end of the day, you’re still saving people.

“When we first met, if you hadn’t stepped in for that girl when you did, she’d be dead right now. And you say you don’t really care about her, but you cared enough to stop us. I mean, you could’ve just stayed hidden or left the moment we arrived. If you did either of those things, you probably wouldn’t be involved in all this right now. But you didn’t. And because of your actions, that girl is alive.” Sam stares into your eyes unwaveringly, and you’re at a loss for words. “So think about that the next time you’re feeling down.”

“He’s right…” Dean surrenders with a ceding look. “So, you won the lottery _once_. If you start giving all your money away to every Tom, Dick, and Harry just ‘cause you feel guilty for winning, you wouldn’t even have enough to live out the rest of your days if your lifespan was a mayfly’s.” His lips pull into a smirk, seeming proud to have made the joke. “And you’re an immortal now, you’ve got your own ass to look after.”

Sam glances at his brother. “A mayfly? Really?”

“You get it, right? It’s ‘cause they don’t live very long.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know how long they live.”

You clear your throat for their attention. When they turn to you again, you’re biting your lips rather sheepishly. “Yeah… about that…”

The brothers stare at you with confused expressions.

 

***

“Holy shit,” Dean says for the fifth time when you finish scraping the coating off the final Scratch & Win and pass it to him. Standing at his side and leaning over his shoulder is Sam. His eyes are bulging, still in awe at your unrelenting luck.

You had tried to explain your strange luck at the motel, but they didn’t quite seem to get it. When you tried to demonstrate by asking them for a round of poker, Dean decided it would be a much more convincing spectacle if you just accomplished your claims first hand. So after a few more back and forth, you finally relented to visiting one of the town’s convenience stores for it was a stop you all had to make anyway. You grabbed the first five Scratch & Win tickets you saw from the plastic rack, paid for them, then proceeded to drag the Winchesters to a corner of the store so they could see your luck in action.

And now, here you stand with a dark look set in your features and the brothers… _ogling_ at the tickets.

“How is that even possible?” Sam breathes out. “I mean the chances of that alone are like… a billion to one.”

Your shoulders sag, clutching the dime in your fist. “I know. It’s creepy, right?”

Dean pulls the tickets away as if you’ve just insulted him. “Creepy?” He grips your shoulder and lowers to your eye level. “Do you have any idea how amazing this is? You’re a walking talking _miracle!_ ” He beams. “You’re my new best friend!”

You shoot him a dead-eyed look, clearly unimpressed by his avarice. “So, you’re convinced?”

He straightens himself and takes his hand back. “Oh yeah.” Chuckling, he grins at his brother and waves the tickets, almost giddy with glee.

“Good.” You wrench the cards from him before the man can protest. Walking over to the nearest recycling, you shred the cards and toss the pieces in.

Dean's face is a picture of heartbreak. “W-Why did you do that?! You just threw away half a million dollars!”

You pace back to the two brothers, motioning for them to lower their voices. There are already onlookers from the other aisles. “Dean, you don’t seem to get it. All this…” you gesture vaguely to yourself. “My luck. It’s _unnatural_. No one else is like this, and I have no idea where it all came from.” Your frown deepens. … _Why_ I’m _like this._ “And I don’t know if there will be repercussions later on that I’ve gotta deal with because of what I have now.” Your eyes trail to the side, mildly aware of your own paranoia. “It could be a curse. _I_ could be cursed.”

Dean shoots you a snort. “Okay, how about we cool it with the melodrama. If someone wanted to curse you, they’ve clearly chosen the wrong spell. You said you were like this ever since you could remember, so if it was a spell or a _curse,_ it would’ve started when you were just a kid, a baby even. Who’s gonna be willing to go that far for a _kid._ ” His lips curl into a smirk. “Unless you’re telling me you’ve been starting beef with witches before you could crawl?”

You cross your arms and glare at him. “No, Dean. That’s not what I’m telling you. But think on this.” You lean in to challenge the smug look on his face. “In our line of work, when has something that’s _too good to be true_ ever _not_ been _exactly_ just that?”

Dean’s smirk falls and Sam begins to frown with you. The men share a look.

“She’s got a point.” Sam indicates with a half-shrug.

Dean turns away with a groan. “Goddammit. Why do we always, _always,_ have to look the gift horse in the mouth!”  

Sam sends his brother a sympathetic look and a pat on the shoulder. Your face softens and you do feel _a little_ bad for the guy. After all the crap the angels just put him through, he really _does_ deserve a break.

“Dean.” You call out, feeling like you’re trying to pacify a kid. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll buy you whatever you want. But for now, let’s just do what we came here to do.”

Dean peers over at your appeasing smile. His face appears sullen but there’s a distinct glint in his eyes. “Anything I want?”

You scrutinize that glint but decide to ignore whatever ulterior intentions that may be swimming around in his mind. You turn your attention to the cashier. The security footage from the local police showed the latest missing person going into this corner store. He was declared missing three days later by his wife. Walking up to the counter, you get ready to pull out your fake badge.

Behind you, you hear Dean whisper to his brother. “You’re the lawyer in the family. You heard what she said. Anything I want. That’s legally binding.”

Sam just sighs.

***

 

Sam pulls his fingers across the window pane, dragging up the yellowish-white residue. He rubs his fingers together. “Sulfur.”

Dean turns his head towards his brother, lowering his voice. “So it's demons.”

You eye the broken brush hedges from the same window. It's a possible evidence of a struggle. In the other room, you can hear the distraught wife over the phone with her family.

The three of you had decided to visit the house of the most recent disappearance under the guise of Federal officers and a new trainee. You had to take the latter role. What could you do? You were the youngest.

“Do you think this could be related to the seals?” you ask.

Sam catches your line of vision and scrutinizes the same bush. “If demons are involved, I'd say it's more than a probability.”

Dean grins, ready to leave. “All righty then. What say you guys about calling our little angel friend down for a visit?”

*

After bidding the poor wife goodbye and a few more words of consolation, the three of you drive back to the motel. Once you arrive, you run back to your room as quickly as possible, eager to get out of the cheap suit. The collar of the blouse keeps scratching the back of your neck, leaving it red and irritable. Once you've returned to your usual shirt, jacket, and jeans, you head to the Winchester's room.

“Okay, I'm ready. Go ahead.” You gesture towards Dean as you plop down at the edge of his bed.

The man looks a little flummoxed. “Why me?”

_Because I’ve already called him a few days ago._ And even though Castiel may come immediately, you don’t want to give them the inkling that you’re anything more than acquaintances. You stare at Dean like the reason is obvious. “Aren’t you two super close?”

Sam is giving Dean the same look when his brother starts to object. “You were the one that said it was Cass that gave you the idea to use Chuck against Lilith.”

You nod, remembering. “You prayed to him that time too, and he came right away.”

Dean makes a face. “So? According to Cass, you summoned him in your sleep-”

“Just do it!” You and Sam snap simultaneously.

Successfully pushed, Dean mimics your nagging voices before turning around and clasping his hands together. “Okay.” He breathes out. “Cass? You there? Think there might be a seal being broken here. Could use your help right about now.” He twists back around, expecting the angel to do his usual sneak up. You and Sam look about the room.

“What do you need.”

You jump off the bed, almost tripping when you hear Castiel's voice beside you. “Jeez, Cass.” You say through gritted teeth, your pulse still spiking.

Castiel looks at you with an odd expression. “I frightened you.”

You take a deep breath and shoot him a peeved look for stating the obvious. “We need to attach a bell to you or something,” you mutter under your breath.

Dean chuckles. “Now you know how I feel.”

You twist around to pitch him a glare. “Anyhow,” you begin, switching back to the angel. “We found some demon activity in this town. About ten people have been kidnapped. We've found sulfur at almost every location, but we have no idea why they're doing this other than something that's _maybe_ tied to a seal.”

Sam steps forward to continue, transferring Castiel's attention on him. “We figure they might be keeping the bodies in some abandoned factory or underground, but this is an industrial town. It'll take days to check every possible location. And I don't think the victims have much time. Can you help us?”

Castiel straightens his gaze, seemingly understanding. “Yes.” He flickers out of the room.

You glance mechanically around you, unsure of what just happened.

“Okay, that was useful,” Dean mutters sarcastically.

A second later, Castiel reappears in the center of the room, startling Dean.

You bite your lip from grinning.

“I believe I've found their location.” Castiel declares in his monotone voice.

Sam’s eyes widen. “Wow. That was fast.”

The angel raises his head. “There is an old factory not far from the edge of town. It's been warded from angels. It's their most likely station.”

You jerk a glance at Castiel. So there’s a way to ward against angels? Your gaze darkens. Would it be much use when Uriel’s mark is still on you? The angels _watching over_ you would probably stop you the moment you start making the wards. …Still though, it can’t hurt to know _how._

Dean smirks, ready for his daily dose of violence. “Awesome. Let's go.”

Castiel briefly grazes your eyes with his before settling them back on the Winchesters. “I will wait for you there and survey the area for demon activity.” Without giving anyone a chance to respond, he leaves.

“So,” you say as you head for the door. “Any chance of me riding shotgun?”

“Nope.” Sam pats your shoulder as he passes you.

 

*

The Impala pulls into a gritty stop over the gravel. You step out of the car and slam the door shut. Looking over to the abandoned metal building, the sunlight bounces orange tinted beams off the cracked windows. You realize the sky is darkening. You eye every inch of the structure but can’t find anything that resembles a ward. Maybe the markings are on the inside? Or maybe is not markings at all…

The brothers move to the back of the car and pop open the trunk. Dean pulls out the same dagger you saw him use the night you first met him. He sees you eye the blade.

“Demon-killing knife, one of its kind.” He holds it up for you to examine before sliding it into his belt. While Sam is tampering with a shotgun, Dean rummages their collection and brings out a pistol. He holds it toward you. “The bullets have been doused with holy water. Won't kill a demon, but it'll definitely slow them down.”

You drop an impassive gaze at the lackluster weapon. “No thanks. I'm not good with guns.”

Dean gives you the most incomprehensible look. Even Sam stops what he is doing to stare at you.

“What the hell kind of hunter doesn't use guns?”

When you don't answer, Dean just grabs your hand and forces the pistol into your palm. “It's not that difficult. Just point and shoot.” He lowers his face to your eye level at your reluctant expression. “Make sure you don't shoot us.”

“Right,” you reply unwillingly and slip the gun into your jacket.

After Sam slams the trunk, Dean skims you with a wary regard. “Stay close, all right? Just let us take care of the big ones.”

You pull on a beaming face and salute the man. “Whatever you say, your holiness.”

Dean flings you a dirty look. “I will shoot you.”

“Hey guys,” Sam interrupts, pointing behind you.

You and Dean look back, finding Castiel pacing towards you.

“Were you able to see anything?”

Castiel shakes his head at Sam. “They were fastidious with the warding. Whatever it is they have inside, I can't get to it.” His shoulders are bent more than usual.

“Are the wardings invisible? I don’t see anything.” You wear a nonchalant face and squint at the building.

When Castiel looks at you, you persist your guise of innocence. He nods. “Yes. The entire exterior is covered with them.” Your insides shrivel in disappointment. _It was a long shot anyway._ Turning to the angel, you offer him a grin and a pat on the arm. Castiel is forced to sit out at the bench and you know he’s dejected over it. “Don't worry about it. We'll take care of whatever they’ve got.”

Dean snorts. “Big talk from someone who can't even use a gun.”

You send the man a glare, seriously considering throwing the pistol he handed you at his head. Dean just grins. When you look back at Castiel, his mood seems lightened.

“I relayed what you told me to my superiors. There are no seals we are aware of that require ordinary humans in such numbers.”

“So this might not be a seal at all.” Sam muses.

Dean slams his fist into his palm, eager to leave. “Seal or no, we still gotta clean this up. Hopefully, some of these people are still alive.”

 “I will wait for you here. Be careful.”

You nod back to Castiel and head towards the rusting establishment. A few minutes in, your feet leave the crunchy, gravel terrain and step on smooth concrete. You turn your head and sneak a glance at the angel from the corner of your eye. You only saw him briefly two days ago when you encountered Chuck. You wonder if you’ll actually be able to exchange more than a few words this time. You follow the Winchesters around a corner of the building and Castiel cuts out from view. A meter in front of you is the double-doored entrance. It isn’t even locked. The demons are either very careless or _very_ confident they wouldn’t be found.

Once you're past the entrance, everyone’s senses immediately heighten and both men ready their arms. Following what Dean told you, you stay close behind them. The ground is littered with dust, broken pieces of glass and other bits of metal that must have once served some function. You tiptoe lightly around the debris, doing the best you can to avoid any noise. To your chagrin, the men aren’t as light on their feet. With each step they take, you grimace harder, feeling as though their footfalls are clamoring gongs, resounding your whereabouts for all of the demons to hear. You know you’re exaggerating. But you’ve never teamed up with other hunters before, and your methods are usually much stealthier.

As you’re led further into the interior, the light from the windows fade. After another set of doors, you’re near shrouded in dark. Dean pulls out a flashlight and anchor his left wrist over his right, setting the light next to his gun. Sam turns around to send you a signal. Obliging their directions, you wait in the shadows of another pillar while they scout further ahead. You only move once they give you the okay. Treading further inward, you pause when you detect a smell. You take a few hesitant whiffs. The smell soon morphs into a rancorous, stinging odor.

You know what this is.

It’s rot.

You bring a hand over your nose and try to breathe through your mouth. In the darkness, you can feel Sam and Dean’s similar discomfort at the stench.

A sudden noise brings you all to a standstill. Dean immediately shuts off his light and both men aim their guns at the noise. Down the walkway, you think you see something reflective. A few clangs echo past you, and you hear the opening of a heavy metal door. The hinges squeak from the years of neglect.

In a split second decision, the men pull away their guns and you all scatter to hide yourselves.

The smell instantly turns pungent, wafting from the now open entrance. You catch Sam motioning for you to stay where you are, and you nod. You hear footsteps from the entrance and you see someone walking out. The lack of light is making it hard for you to discern their figure, but you're certain it's male. You see the Winchesters have disappeared from their posts, and you know they're stalking around in the dark, looking for the opening to strike.

The man by the metal entrance pushes the door back to shut it. Just as his fingers leaves the handle, Dean jumps into view. He clamps his palm over the man's mouth, swiftly driving the dagger through his back. The body falls, ricocheting yellow flashes against the metal door.

With the first demon down, Sam steps out of his hiding spot and waves a hand at you. With his assurance, you approach them.

“So far so good. You sure you're ready for what's inside?” Sam asks you while Dean wipes down his blade. “Could be pretty grisly.”

You drop a glance at the body, feeling sorry for the possessed human. “Yeah. It'll be fun.” You swallow, still trying to get used to the stink.

Sam passes you a lingering look. “Watch out for yourself.”

At your readied attention, Dean pulls at the handle and moves inside. Instead of another narrow passage way as you had hoped, this door leads to a large open room, and every single demon standing in it snaps their head towards you.

“Uh, hey there,” Dean greets with a mechanical smile. “Hope we weren’t interrupting anything?”

None of you were expecting so many demons on the other side. There’s another silent beat before the room erupts into chaos. Sam and Dean break into a run as s mass of two dozen demons bulldoze towards them. They shout at you to get back out.

Your mind whirls, triggering something in your brain. The scenery warps into a sluggish pace. The brothers' warning echo past your ears as your eyes take in the scene in front of you. Behind the running bodies, you see a slab of concrete sitting on a metal support, functioning as a table. What is on the slab makes your stomach turn.

In pieces of shining crimson and bruised flesh are undoubtedly something resembling that of a human. But with the state they’re in, the disproportionate arrangement of the sections, and the visible differences in skin color, you realize they are separate pieces of multiple people. The hope of saving any survivors sink to the pit of your stomach, drudging up nausea and bile in its fall.

Sam and Dean's shouts still come your way, lurching you back into real time. You glance up, catching the malicious glint of two black eyes as they loom over you. You see a mouth stretch into a perverse grin, its teeth gleaming.

* * *

 

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!! Reviewers get to pat Castiel on the arm!**


	6. Noble Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice discovers the reason why Lilith has been hunting for her, leading to the startling realization of what her fate may be.  
> ~  
> A chill runs down your spine.  
> Your eyes flicker to the man tied to the chair, his appearance bloodied and in disarray. You find his hungry black eyes watching you, peering out from the sinister face of a hell spawn. The manic ferocity in his gaze unnerves you and you involuntarily edge back.  
> The demon suddenly throws back his head. The room fills with the sound of rancorous laughter.  
> “Talk!” Dean roars.  
> ~

Your heart quickens. Blood and adrenaline surge through your veins.

Your attacker leers down at you, confidence and sadism bleeding from his features. In the background, two more demons approach. Both are wearing equal faces of malicious enjoyment.

You continue to stay immobile, watching them come closer, waiting for them to make the first move.

The demon before you raises his right hand.

Any coherent thoughts take a back seat as pure unchaste instinct fill your senses, abolishing every obstacle. You pull back your arm, the ample muscles flex in response to the buildup of power. Pushing off the ground, you bring your fist crashing into your attacker's center. The shock of your blow reverberates through his body, thrusting him back. His frame interrupts the charge of the demons behind him and the trio is sent tumbling astern.

Your assault brings the attention of more challengers. You pull in your limbs and re-center yourself, guarding every opening. With your eyes bright and pupils dilated, you scan the oncoming enemies. There’s a flurry in the corner of your vision and your hand flies back. The maneuver catches the demon sneaking behind you by surprise and you snake your arm around his neck. Twisting him forward, you seize the dark creature by the head and slam him face-first into the concrete.

Two demons converge on you from the sides.

You tighten your stomach. Using the head of the previous demon as leverage, you press harder into his crushed skull and flip upwards. You swing through the open air. Prepping your body for the descent, you cram your feet into the chests of the two demons. They stumble back from the impact and fall. Before the demons can regain their bearings, you're already in front of them, positioned for the next barrage of attack.

Pivoting on one foot, you whip the other leg through the air. With a hard smack, your leg connects with the first head, sending it colliding into the nose of his neighbor. There is an audible crack as both crumble onto the ground, various parts of their heads bloodied and dented.

A rush of elation floods through you, pleading that you feed its appetite for more.

In the far corner of the room are the Winchesters, doing all they can to fend off the mob of enemies. More and more demons are pouring into the room. In their grapple, the hunters don’t even notice you. Grunts and shots sound out, mixing in the air with sweat and exertion. You can taste the demon’s bloodlust, the Winchesters’ urgency, and your own sense of danger. It’s music to your ears, darkly violent and sensual, and you give yourself over to the feeling. Your instincts hone in on the targets, a giant cluster of demons collaring the men from escape. You make your leap for the cluster, slicing a line through various stragglers to get to them. You feel the blows against you, but there is no pain, only gratification. Your body is a machine, smashing, punching, and crushing. You tear through the room against any and all adversaries.

Then, suddenly, everything is silent.

You try to straighten, swaying as you turn about. Somehow, without you realizing, the room has become littered with the broken bodies of demons. You stand where you are, panting. The adrenaline pulsing through your brain still urges you forward, but with no opponents left, your mind staggers to regain control.

When the pounding in your veins begins to ebb, you feel two pairs of eyes watching you. You slowly turn towards the left. You completely forgot the hunters.

Taking a deep breath, you bring your eyes to meet theirs. Had it not been for the dread now heavy in your heart, you would have laughed outright at their expression. The men are positively flabbergasted.

Mouth hanging ajar, Dean is still gripping onto his blade, frozen midway from a finished attack. His opponent, crumbled and limp at his feet, is already dead. Sam, like his brother, is also suspended mid-movement. His arms are raised, brandishing his shotgun at an enemy that is no longer there. At their unblinking stares, your own gaze falters and you observe your surroundings once more. Flashes of recent events replay in your consciousness and you now have enough sobriety to review your actions.

 _Well, it was gonna happen sooner or later._  

You clear your throat and the brothers blink. “Um… I was only able to incapacitate them. You guys still need to finish the rest.” True to your words, a few of the bodies are eliciting groans.

“Wha....” Dean's voice is high again. You interrupt his thought by pointing a finger at the moving bodies. The two finally seem to snap out of it. They look around themselves before moving. Just as Dean steps towards one of the demons still alive, he suddenly turns around and jabs a finger at you. “We're gonna talk about this after.” His voice is low and commanding, but his eyes tell you just how disturbed he really is.

You surrender a nod and a wry grin.

While Dean finishes the demons with his blade, Sam keeps the remainder disabled. After giving them a heads-up, you decide to search the buildings for survivors. Following your nose, you’re able to find them within minutes.

Tied to the back of a storage room are the three most recent victims. To your relief, they’re alive but barely. The shock of having their body parts stolen has taken its toll. Two out of the three are unconscious and slowly bleeding to death. You tend to them immediately by muttering a few incantations. You’re able to staunch the blood flow and stop any growing infections. You hurry back to the main room and alert Sam and Dean of what you found, urging them on the need for hospitalization.

One demon is left alive and Dean is in midst of tying him up and gagging him. He looks over to his brother, who’s inspecting the flesh on the concrete table, and suggests Sam go with you to help with the prisoners.

It’s dark when you carry the injured outside, and Dean is busying himself with the struggling demon. Once the hell-spawn is secured, he douses the severed body parts with some kind of propellant before lighting them on fire. The three of you exit the building together, you and Sam carrying the last victim and Dean the demon.

Dean punches the hell spawn in the face. “Goddamn demons. They just never quit.” With Sam’s help, the two are finally able to slam the trunk of the Impala down.

Standing with the unconscious victims, you and Castiel assess the damage.

“Can you fix them?” you ask.

He stares grimly at the three individuals. “To a point. They'll live, but I can't help them regrow the missing limbs.”

You nod. “Whatever you can do then. And... maybe erasing their memories of this incident would be… nice.”

Castiel's gaze flickers to you. Whatever thought he holds, it passes too quickly for you to catch. Nodding, he kneels and places his hand over each victim. With one soft glow after another, their dismal features wash away and restore to an unblemished calm. Castiel stands, signaling the end of his task. You and the brothers move them to the backseat of the car, strapping the bodies in securely.

You straighten your back and stretch. “What about the rest of the bodies inside?” Your group had managed to kill about twenty demons. Unfortunately, a few of the smarter ones knew when they’d lost. Three bodies were able to unhinge their jaw, letting the black soul inside escape.

The men’s faces scrunch. No one is looking forward to digging enough graves for twenty bodies.

“Take the injured to the hospital. The angels will take care of the rest.”

Dean looks at Castiel with snark. “You’re not planning on destroying a whole town again, are you?” His tone is sarcastic, but the hardness in his gaze tells you he’s only half-joking.

Castiel stares straights into the hunter’s eyes, his head tilting to the left. “No.”

You glance over to the younger Winchester, who only answers with a shrug. Although Dean may still have misgivings against Castiel over the incident with Alistair, you and Sam are quite relieved by the assistance.

Dean looks away with a dry chuckle, knowing his jab has completely flown over the angel’s head. “Well, car's full. One of us will have to go with Cass.” Dean looks at you specifically.

You return the man’s gaze without resistance, actually glad for the suggestion. Stuffing yourself in for an hour's drive to the hospital is hardly what you feel like right now. “And the demon?” You jerk your head to the trunk.

Dean and Sam share a look. “We'll find another place to question him after we bring those three to the hospital.” He switches back to you and Castiel. “You guys can wait for us back at the motel until we give you the address of where we'll be.”

You nod, stepping back from the car. Suddenly remembering the pistol in your pocket, you call out for them to wait. You reach into your jacket and pull out the small gun. As Dean turns around, you slide it to him across the car’s hood. He snatches the pistol when it reaches him. Dean eyes the gun then throws back a miffed expression.

“We're gonna have a nice long chat when all this is done.”

You grin, feeling more confident. You’re glad the Winchesters haven’t changed their attitude towards you. “Whatever you like.”

Sam and Dean get into the car and slam the doors in unison. They give you one more wave before driving off. Once the car turns down the road, you look to the angel beside you.

“Well, I'm ready whenever you are.”

Castiel is still for a second longer. You give him an apologetic smile. You know he’ll be shocked again for touching you. The angel places one hand on your shoulder and the familiar sense of vertigo washes over you. When your vision adjusts, you're back at the motel. Castiel withdraws his hand and you step away.

The bathroom door holds your attention and you suddenly realize how badly you want a shower. You grimace when you recall the dismal macabre of the factory's interior. You start towards your duffle bag, fumbling through your belongings before you notice the weight of Castiel’s gaze. “If you don't mind, I'm gonna get cleaned up first. You can watch some TV if you'd like. Make yourself comfortable.”

Castiel regards the various furniture in your room, not looking particularly taken with your suggestion. “I'd like to ask you what you witnessed in the building.”

You almost pause, your eyes flashing. This is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. If the angel wants something from you, you’re gonna drag out his attendance as long as possible. You hide your grin, nodding absentmindedly as you bundle up your clothing and necessities. “Yeah, sure. _After_ my shower.”

Without another word, you head to the bathroom and shut the door behind you. You expel a breath, finally having some time to yourself. You shed your clothes and climb into the tub. Turning the knob to full blast, you let the water wash away the dirt and grime. You run your hands across your face, pulling back your hair. As the water trails down your body, you can almost feel your earlier savagery trail away with it. You moan under its comfort.

So much happened today, the memories of the event bombard your mind. You only just narrowly escaped Lilith the other day, and already, you had to deal with her lackeys. A wave of mental exhaustion blankets you, only to be pushed away when you realize the day isn’t over.

Your mind wanders back to your conversation with the Winchesters. You remember your uncharacteristic umbrage, evoked by Dean’s comments. Your brain dithers as it reviews the entire transaction. Taking the stance of a third-party witness, you realize you probably would’ve _agreed_ with him.

What confounds you is your own behavior.

 _Why_ had you revealed as much as you did? _How_ were you even able to show such vulnerability? You’ve always, _always_ maintained a cordial distance with others, and you know you already have enough of their trust to work with them, to have them _help_ you.

You rewind through the past few weeks, through all the time you spent with the Winchesters.

You let out a chuckle.

Wouldn’t you know it. You actually enjoy their company. Not only do you feel comfortable around them, you _like_ them… and you want them to like you back. It’s why you were so scared to look at them after your little performance against the demons. You thought they’d be afraid of you.

…Well, judging by their expressions, they’re probably _a_ _little_ rattled by you.

You close your eyes and let the water beat against your face.

You file the thought away for later. Right now, you need to focus on the celestial waiting on the other side of the door… _if_ he hasn’t left yet.

By the time you step out of the shower, you’re nearly one hundred percent refreshed. You get dressed quickly. Unable to find the patience to blow-dry your hair, you give it a rough rub with your towel and pull it into a small ponytail. Opening the door, you find Castiel in the exact same spot you left him. Your lips twitch with amusement.

“You could've sat down, you know.” You move to put your laundry away, feeling his eyes follow you.

“I am comfortable waiting for you as I am.”

You zip up your duffle then straighten your back, your hands at your hips. You wonder how you should go about this.

From across the room, Castiel seems to examine you for another second. “Are you free to discuss what transpired at the factory now?”

_Like a dog with a bone._

You stare thoughtfully at the angel. Once you decide on the next course of action, you beam. “Not just yet. I'm feeling pretty hungry. How 'bout we discuss this over dinner?” Before Castiel can protest, you’re already next to him, latching onto his arm and dragging him out the door.  

 

*

Your eyes scan the list of entrées. Your stomach roils from reading one description after another. After the generous display of human anatomy bestowed upon you at the factory, anything at all _meaty_ makes you blanch.

Closing the menu, you force a smile when you return it to the waitress. “The vege-burger, please, with your house fries.”

The woman nods then looks expectantly to the man sitting across from you. You hold back a smile at Castiel’s blank expression.

The entire time you towed Castiel around, you were recounting the mental checklist of questions you prepared days ago. It wasn’t until you were half-way through the town’s center block that you realized it was already quite late into the evening, and most of the restaurants were closed. That left the 24-hour diner the only option available, and you weren’t the only person who realized. When you walked in, the place is buzzing with customers. The diner has become a last-minute beacon to any travelers from miles around.

“And what will you be having, sir?” the waitress finally asks when Castiel doesn’t reply.

The angel stares at you, expecting you to provide assistance. When you don’t, feigning ignorance, he turns his stare to the waitress. There’s a slight narrowing in his gaze and a tilt of his head. Immediately, awareness lights his face. He promptly hands the menu back. “Nothing for me, thank you.”

You scrutinize the transition in his features. You’ve seen him do that before, staring at someone as if he was peering through to something inside. Was he looking into her head? …Looking into her _mind_? Your heart stutters. Can all angels do that?

…No…That’s not it.

If Castiel is able to read your thoughts, he wouldn’t be sitting across from you now.

You remember the night he tried to access your mind. He said he was blocked. You recall your conversation with Zachariah. From the way he acted, you don’t think _he_ was able to read you either…

You see the woman raise an eyebrow at Castiel but doesn’t question him otherwise. “Your order will be ready soon.” Her depart stirs you out of your mulling.

When Castiel turns back to you, you make sure your face isn’t showing anything it shouldn’t.

The questions just keep piling on. How do you go about asking him without looking like you have a hidden agenda?

You push out a chuckle when the server is out of earshot. “I’m guessing angels don’t eat?”

His brows dip, puzzled by your laugh. “With vessels, we are capable of the task, but it isn’t necessary.” His eyes float over the dozens of people in the restaurant, appearing discontent with the location. “Do you think it is wise to dine in such a public place?”

Your lips stretch into a genuine grin when you see him inspect the screaming child at the corner table. The family tries their best to console the offspring. Customers around their table pass the trio vexed looks.

“If it’s demons you’re worried about, I brought a hex bag.” You suppress a laugh at how out of place he seems. “But if push comes to shove, I’m sure you’d be able to protect me.”

Castiel frowns, unable to agree with your carefree mood.

“Besides…” you pause, eyes flashing. “Didn’t you say heaven is watching over me? I feel pretty safe now that I know I’m being scrutinized at every moment.” Your voice drips with sarcasm, but it goes right over the angel’s head. 

“Then you misunderstand. I did say heaven is guarding you, but we are in a _war_. That mark on your shoulder is what gives us knowledge of your location, and we would come immediately if we detect demons in your proximity. But expecting us to be constantly _scrutinizing_ your movements is impossible.” He glares admonishingly at you. “Like I told Dean, there’s a bigger picture here. We can’t all just follow you around.”

 _Huzzah!_ You couldn’t be more delighted with his statement. You bend your lips in a downturn, lowering your visage and appearing _thoroughly_ reprimanded. “Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

He huffs, still simmering on righteous fire. His eyes flicker to the people around him. “If these humans overhear our conversation, don’t you think we’ll induce unnecessary panic?”

You immediately abandon your pout. But in wake of his tirade, you retain a smidgen of timidity. “Cass, no one is paying attention to us. And even if they did, no one would believe any of what we’re saying.”

His focus flies to the female server behind the counter. You noticed the pretty red-head staring at him when he walked through the door. She blushes when he meets her eyes and quickly turns away to converse with the waitress who served your table. Her gaze skips coyly to him after every few words.

“You’re wrong. That particular female has been watching us since we entered this establishment.” His shoulders square, battle-ready.

You bite down, a muscle twitching in your jaw. You don your most serious visage when you address him again. “Do you think we should question her? Maybe she knows something.”

He nods his head grimly. “Perhaps, it is a possibility.”

Your face falls apart and you snort from laughter. You only guffaw harder when Castiel stares at you with utter confusion. You know you should be spending time questioning him, but you just can’t help yourself. If you knew taking Castiel out in public was going to be this entertaining, you would’ve done it a lot sooner.

“Why are you laughing?”

You speak through gritted teeth. “It’s you—” You bite your lips just in time to stop another chortle.

He glares, a look that demands you elaborate. 

You oblige him after taking a few deep breaths. “That girl isn’t sneaking looks at us because she’s suspicious. She’s sneaking looks at _you_ because she’s interested in you.” When Castiel doesn’t seem to understand, you follow up. “She’s interested in you _romantically_ , Cass. Or sexually, or both.”

Castiel leans back, eyes wide. “Oh.”

Your shoulders tremble with levity.

Castiel looks down at himself. “It is the appearance of my vessel that she admires. Not I.”

You finally regain composure. “Your vessel?”

He nods. “I am currently possessing the body of a man named Jimmy Novak. He resigned his body to me when I descended from Heaven to fulfill my mission.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Possess? Like the demons.”

Castiel doesn’t seem to like the comparison. “Jimmy Novak _gave_ _me_ his permission. Angels cannot inhabit a human body otherwise. He is my destined vessel.”

_How interesting. He’s like a mine of information._

You lean forward, examining him as if for the first time. “Is he… still in there? With you?”

Castiel nods. “With me in control, his soul mostly sleeps.”

You tilt your head to the side. “So this isn’t really you I’m looking at. What do you really look like then?”

Your conversation is momentarily interrupted when your waitress approaches with your meal. You thank her as she places the plate in front of you. Once she leaves to help another table, Castiel continues.

“Humans are unable to perceive our true forms.” He pauses, his eyes darkening at an unwanted memory. “At least, not without incurring heavy costs.”

“I see…” You pick at your fries, pondering. “So once all this is over, Jimmy will get his body back and you’ll return to Heaven?”

“Yes.”

“That’s too bad. I think I’ve grown rather fond of you.”

Your lips press together, startled by your own words. You realize you’re a little saddened by his admittance, but you’re more bothered by why you feel such a sentiment in the first place. Are you really this taken with these men or are you just desperate for company? You frown at yourself. Either way, you’re not happy with this involuntary change.

When you notice Castiel looking uncomfortable again, it breaks your thoughts and you fall back into laughter. The angel starts to look impatient. You may have teased him too much.

“What did you see in the factory?” He begins again.

You sigh, realizing your prodding has come to an end. How do you stall? You still need more answers. You slide him a veiled gaze, deepening your voice. “Can’t you just read my mind?”

Castiel dithers, reacting to the shift in your pitch. He looks confused.

“That’s what you did to our waitress.” Your eyes dart towards said waitress in indication. “The way you stared at her. You read her mind, didn’t you? Why don’t you read mine?” You speak the words like a challenge. And if you know men…

Castiel’s gaze darkens. Fortunately, he doesn’t appear suspicious, merely vexed. “Like I told you before, there is a barrier around your mind. I wasn’t able to access it then and I’m still unable to.”

So, you were right. But is this an exclusive occurrence? You have to make sure. Propping your chin on the heel of your palm, you turn your eyes away to the rest of the diner. Looking as distracted as possible, you take another fry and chew. “I wonder if it’s just you. Maybe, if there was another angel that night, they’d be able to see what I was dreaming…”

“I assure you, it’s not.”

You snap your eyes back to the angel. He looks _quite_ incensed. You can almost see the indignation rolling off him. But the emotion soon dissolves into something more pensive.

“However that barrier is created, it’s strong. Witches and warlocks have known to defend their minds in a similar way, but yours is different… Far more ancient.” His frown turns back into a glare and he aims it at you. “As you are now, I doubt even the archangels will be able to read you.”

Your insides swell in triumph. Whatever obscurity hidden in your past, at least a fraction of it seems centered on your protection. “What about the angel wardings? Is this something similar to that? If they can physically repel angels from a building, can they do it to someone’s mind?” You crinkle your brows, staring at the angel in abject horror. “What if the barrier in my head is demon made?”

You doubt it. But the more distressed you appear, the more this angel will likely reveal.

True to expectations, Castiel almost leaps to rebuff you. “Calm down, Alice. The wardings used by the demons can only repel us physically. Not only that, they also have to be drawn onto a surface with blood. The moment the marks are washed away or altered, the entire barrier would fall apart.” His gaze softens and you marvel at the expression he’s making. It almost seems as though he’s looking _concerned_ for you. “If it’s any solace, I was able to touch your barrier and I can assure you it isn’t demon made. If anything, its singularity is reminiscent of the markings in your spell book. _Ancient._ But not demonic.”

You lean back from the table, reveling from his disclosure. You’ve learned much more than you originally thought. You need to go back and re-analyze your book as soon as you’re alone.

You were actually quite surprised when Castiel gave it back to you. Luckily, Uriel wasn’t present when you spoke of your book. He probably would have destroyed it then and there. Your eyes flicker to the angel’s.

Didn’t he mention your book to Zachariah? Why would the angels let you keep a book filled with spells that they can’t read? Especially when they were holding you against your will. This can only mean Castiel _did not_ , in fact, disclose it to his superior.

Why?

You continue to stare into the angel’s eyes, trying to find an answer.

Castiel gives you a questioning look. “What?”

You blink, only just realizing you had spoken out loud. You swallow, pulling back your blasé humor. “I was just wondering. Why did you give my book back to me?”

“Because it belonged to you.”

Your brows crinkle. “It’s filled with spells that you can’t read. Weren’t you concerned that I might’ve used it against you? Used it to escape?”

“No.” Castiel continues to stare headlong at you, not a hint of doubt marks his features. He’s telling the truth.

You’re thoroughly flummoxed. “ _Why?_ ”

“Because you said you would stay.”

You lose your words.

You sit there, your eyes wide and fixated on the being across from you. Castiel gave you back your book because you had _told_ him you would stay… and he believed you. Just like he believes you now. His gaze pushes back against yours, open and clear, not a single trace of hidden motives or agendas. You don’t know how to respond. You’ve never encountered someone who looked at you like this… with such blind trust.

Your heart wrenches. There’s a twisting bitterness rising inside you when you see just how _pure_ he is… and how _jaded_ you’ve become. You suddenly feel like laughing… and crying. You feel like bowing your head down and apologizing over and over again for all the selfish, manipulative thoughts and actions.

But cooler heads prevail. You’ve been like this for 25 years and it’s going to take a lot more than that to change you. You suck in a breath and put yourself back together. Plastering on a smile, you move back to the earlier dialogue. “There was about a dozen of them.”     

Castiel looks increasingly confused. You just pulled him through a rollercoaster of your own private thoughts without the curtesy of granting context or reason. It’s only normal that he’s having trouble keeping up.

“Back in the factory. Only a dozen demons, easy enough to take out.”

Understanding dawns on his face and he leans back. You have his undivided attention.

Your smile softens. It’s time you finally give him what he wanted. “As far as blood and gore go, it was pretty much your average demon function. But…” Your brows furrow as you recall. “They had the victims’ body parts all laid out on a table. Each piece looked like it belonged to a different person. I’ve never seen demons try anything like that before… I think they were kidnapping the humans to build some kind of Frankenstein’s monster.” You rip a small piece of your sandwich and bring it to your mouth. “Does this sound familiar to you at all?”

Castiel scrutinizes the table. “It does not. But the demon you were able to capture should provide us with more answers.” His eyes slide back to you. “We should reconvene with Dean and Sam as soon as possible.”

Just as those last words are said, your phone rings. You wipe your hands on a napkin and grab the phone from your pocket. Flipping it open, you bring the receiver to your lips. “Alice here.”

“We found a place for the interrogation.” It’s Sam’s voice. “The address is 241 Anchor Drive—”, His words are interrupted by Dean shouting in the background.

“Tell them to get their asses here now! I wanna get this done!”

Sam sighs. “Yeah, so if you could get here soon….”

You smirk. “We’ll be right there, Sam. Tell Dean to keep his panties on.” You end the call and signal that it’s time to leave. After dropping two twenties on the table, you snatch another bite from the burger, sad to leave the meal half finished. You notice Castiel is already walking out the door and you hurry after him.

“Cass!” you call for him to wait. The angel sure has long strides. He turns into an alleyway and you scamper to catch up. When you turn the same corner, you come up to see him facing you. His expression, frowning with impatience provokes you to grin. You march forward.

The moment you’re within arm’s reach, he lifts his hand. You stop him, your smile grows at the annoyance on his face.

“I just wanted to tell you thanks.”

Castiel blinks.

“Thanks for trusting me, for returning my book. And for all the help you’ve given me.” You peer up at his muddled features. “I _owe you one._ ”

The angel pulls his hand back a bit. He doesn’t seem to know how to respond and you don’t need him to.

“C’mon. What’re we waiting around for. Let’s go.” You give him a Cheshire grin. It widens when you see your remark has him irked. Castiel pushes his hand forward, making sure there are no onlookers before he vanishes with you.

Upon landing, your arrival is greeted by a loud cursing. You blink away the momentary dizziness. Over Castiel’s shoulder, you see Dean flapping his arm as if trying to shake something off. The angel steps away, allowing you a clear view of the space.

You’re in what appears to be the living room of an abandoned home. The walls and floors are covered with crumbling drywall and multiple spider webs decorate the dilapidated edges. There’s a horribly dusty couch to the side. The fabric is so worn you can’t even discern what its original color is. Next to the couch are the overturned table and two chairs, both broken. You’re able to perceive this lovely view because of the dirt-crusted lamp in the corner. Its weak light flickers under the shade but still manages to stretch its glow across the room’s expanse.  

You raise your brow, surprised the house is still receiving electricity.

Through the opening to the kitchen, you see Sam crouched on the floor with a spray can in hand. In front of him seems to be a giant devil’s trap.

You eye the broom in the corner. The men virtually had to clean the entire floor area to set this up. If there is even one sliver of dust or garbage, it can ruin the trap altogether. Something you’re sure the Winchesters _definitely_ won’t let happen again. 

“Hey, guys.” You call out, striding toward them with Castiel.

Sam looks up when he finishes up the last of the markings. “Glad you guys came right away.” He glances worriedly to his brother. Standing half a meter away, in the painted circle, is Dean, in midst of threatening their captive. The wall cuts off your view of the demon and you can only see the edge of his pant legs. The brothers seem to have him tied to the only working chair.

You raise a brow at Dean when Sam walks through the opening to meet you. “What’s up with him?”

Sam rubs the back of his neck, his face caught between concern and amusement. “Dean, uh…got bit when he was trying to tie him up.”

The older Winchester slams a punch across the demon’s face, unhappy with whatever insult that came out of him.

“You guys should probably hurry with the questions if you don’t want Dean to kill him.”

Castiel paces over to the hunter, pulling his attention away from the jeering demon. “Dean.”

“He bit me, dammit! They’re like animals!”

You break into a grin. Wanting a closer view, you move towards the opening and lean against the frame. Sam takes the spot next to you. 

The angel places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, easing him back. “I understand your frustration, but finding answers come first.”

At Castiel’s request, Dean brings his anger to a boil, but not before throwing the demon another scathing glare.

A chill runs down your spine.

Your eyes flicker to the man tied to the chair, his appearance bloodied and in disarray. You find his hungry black eyes watching you, peering out from the sinister face of a hell spawn. The manic ferocity in his gaze unnerves you and you involuntarily edge back.

“All right, talk.” Dean brandishes his canteen of holy water, ready to use at the slightest hint of transgression. “What the hell were you guys trying to do back there?”

The possessed body begins to quiver. You narrow your eyes. _Is he feeling afraid?_

The demon suddenly throws back his head. The room fills with the sound of rancorous laughter.

Castiel and Sam exchange looks of apprehension. Dean grits his teeth. Before anyone else can get a word in, he splatters the holy water across the demon’s face. The dark creature cries out mid-laugh, his flesh singeing from the liquid. His previous look of elation immediately morphs to one of anguish.

“Talk!” Dean roars.

The demon pants. When the sizzle recedes, the maniacal grin comes back. “I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

His eyes slither back to you and your skin crawls. Your face darkens. You don’t like what’s happening.

“And you better not lie or I start pulling teeth,” Dean growls. He seems just as affected by the abrupt change in the demon’s tune. Something’s wrong, and it’s injecting the air with tension.

The demon rasps through curled lips, grinning ear-to-ear. “Why lie when the truth is so much sweeter? You wanna know what we were trying to do?” He shoots Castiel a look of scorn. “You angels are pests!” He takes on a mocking tone. “Always trying to stop us from breaking your _precious seals_.” His head whips back to Dean. “So we needed some insurance. We were going to create our own Knight of Hell… or, at least, something of the like.”

Sam’s brows dip in thought. “But then we stopped you.”

The hell spawn swerves to the younger Winchester, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yes, _good for you_.”

Sam glares back but is ignored.

“You stopped us from building some minor defense…” The leering black eyes lock onto you, tracing over your figure. It takes all your mettle to withstand the ravenous look.

“But what you gave us in return far exceeds the value of any Knight of Hell.”

Dean grits his teeth. “What the hell are you talking about? We didn’t give you jack!”

“Oh! But you did!” He jerks towards you. “When you brought the immortal right to our doorstep!” He lets out a barking laugh. “How’ve we looked and looked and you walked right to us!”

Your blood runs cold.

Dean loses his patience and plunges his fist into the demon’s gut. “Quit laughing and start making sense!”

The demon coughs out at the sudden attack, spewing out blood and saliva. Yet, he still manages to keep his smirk. He takes in a few more breaths before he speaks.

“ _The noble blood of one immune to time and the blood of first darkness. United, they shall be the doors to the Fallen's cage_.” He slides a bloody tongue across his teeth. “We found you! We know who you are! Lilith knows who you are!” The demon screams at you. “It’s only a matter of time now!”

Your chest heaves and you grit your teeth. You think you feel sick.

All this time… It was your blood they wanted.

“And when he rises, we’ll owe it all to you three.” His gleaming eyes dance from you to the brothers and back. “The famous Winchesters who started all this… and the immortal who will open his doors.”

You stand shell-shocked. His eyes seem to cleave straight through you.

He lets out a low, slithering laugh. “We’re gonna bleed you dry.”

You can see it too; a painting of your death. Your life blood pooling away, giving rise to the Father of Demons.

An acute shriek jostles you from your stupor. Dean clearly had enough of his prattle, driving the demon blade deep into his chest. However, the hell spawn still has the final word.

“You’ll lose in the end. You’ll die. All… of… you.” His last breath expires, the dying flickers of his demonic candle declaring his passing.

Sam turns to you and he holds out a hand. “Alice. Are you okay?” It hovers inches by your arm.

You wrench your eyes from the demon’s empty gaze and turn towards his voice. You imagine you must be looking quite pale. You dig your fingers into your palms, clenching your hands. You welcome the pain when it shoots through you. It cuts apart the pandemonium in your skull and your mind staggers to regain rationale. You strain to keep your wits about you, to appear unfazed. You hold up a hand as an indication of your stability, but the mechanical movement of your body betrays you.

How did things go so wrong? Lilith knows who you are; she’ll know what to look for… You think back to the demons you fought. The fanatical expressions on their faces. _They knew!_ But _how_ did they know? How was this demon able to recognize what you are when all the other demons you’ve faced up to now haven’t?

 _Stupid!_ You were so stupid! Why did you let them escape? _How_ could you? And now, you’ve no one to answer your questions.

A hand grips your shoulder, shaking you from your thoughts. A familiar tie and trench coat enters your vision. You snap up to meet a set of deep imploring eyes.

“They want my blood…” you breathe out.

Castiel stiffens. The intensity of his gaze darkens the cobalt hue, bearing down on you with its weight. “That’s not going to happen.” His grip tightens. “We’ll stop Lilith before she can lay a hand on you.”

The vehement pressure of his tone almost convinces you.

Your brain reels and you suddenly realize how close the angel is, how close you’ve allowed him. Warnings blare out in your mind. _Your face! Your face! You’re letting them see everything!_

You squeeze your eyes shut and slap both hands to your cheeks. Your action startles everyone.

You draw in deep breaths, recognizing just how much of yourself you were revealing. Whenever you’re with these boys, you find your guard dropping and you’re not even conscious of it. You’re becoming much too comfortable with them, _familiar_ with them, to the point where you feel you can… _rely_ on them.

And that’s terrifying in its own right.

“I’m fine, guys,” you say, finally managing to pull back your previous look of self-assurance. You drop your hands from your cheeks but can still feel a throbbing sting.

Castiel examines you. He seems addled by your strange actions, but when he notes the calm in your face, he relaxes his hand from your shoulder.

“Hey, don’t you worry.” Dean grins delicately. “If Lilith shows, we’ll take her out. Heck, with the way you fight, you can probably gank her yourself.”

His remark makes you snort. But it still elicits a genuine smile.

“Yeah, Alice.” Sam’s gaze is soft and he offers his support as well. “You’re not in this alone. We’ll fight them together,”

You start to feel a little embarrassed.

Luckily, Castiel steers the focus away from you when he shifts. He passes his eyes from one person to the next. “I need to return to Heaven and report this immediately. I will come back as soon as I can.” He directs the latter to you.

Before you can tell him he doesn’t need to, the man is gone. You swallow a sigh.

After a moment of silence, Sam clears his throat. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to leave.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck, fatigued from the day’s events. “About damn time.” He tosses the cadaver on the chair a reluctant look and motions for you and Sam. “Help me get this body out back.”

 

***

When you returned to the hotel, it was near midnight. While Sam and Dean offered for you to stay in their suite for the night, you assured them that you would be perfectly safe in your own room. Not only did you prepare plenty of hex bags, you also warded your room with the incantations and symbols drawn out in your spell book. What you didn’t tell them was that you wanted some time alone, some time to _think._ The Winchesters eventually relented, but you knew they’d both be sleeping with one eye open tonight.

So now, here you are, sitting immobile on the edge of your bed with your back facing the window. You kept the lights off, but the glow from the outside street lamps still manages to cast a pale luminescence into your room through the blinds. Your fingers fist the sheets at your side. A few inches to your left lies your spell book. You had wanted to scan the contents in hopes you would discover more about the barrier within your mind, but now, you can hardly be bothered with it. 

You close your eyes and draw in a deep breath. Over and over again, it echoes in your head; it’s all you can think about.  

 …The demon’s words on repeat.

  

_~ …“The noble blood of one immune to time and the blood of first darkness. United, they shall be the doors to the Fallen's cage.”…_

_“We found you! We know who you are!_

_“We’re gonna bleed you dry….”~_

You bring your arms around yourself, no longer able to fake your composure.

You are _terrified_.

Of all your life, you’ve never known such _fear_. But it isn’t just your own death that claws at you, it’s the responsibility of bringing an end to all life on Earth should Lilith acquire you. And you crumble staring in the face of it.

You wince at the thought. Every fiber of your being rejects the notion. But you can’t dismiss the possibility. If Lilith gets to you, the losses will be unfathomable.

A response echoes from the deeper reaches of your mind, taunting you with its prospect. Lilith wouldn’t be able to get to you if you’re not there… If you didn’t exist…. If you weren’t _alive_ ….

You push back the insidious suggestion, but the lure of its logic is indisputable. If you died, Lilith would lose her immortal, the gates would remain sealed….

But no, you counter, even if you died, Lilith would simply find a replacement. There must be more immortals with noble blood out there.

Noble blood… You wipe a hand down your face and laugh, your expression torn between bewilderment and pain.

It’s a mistake. It _has_ to be… what’s so _noble_ about you?

You lie. You steal. You always put yourself above others. You’re so twisted that you can’t even say hello to a stranger without thinking what merits the conversation might bring you. To be associated with you would only make a mockery of the title.

 _Noble blood._ What a joke.

You thread a hand through your hair. You still don’t understand how the demons knew. It can’t be the mark on your wrist because you’ve always had it. The demons that took you to the warehouse thought you were _human_ , as did all the demons you fought before. What changed? You look down at your hands. Because something must have if they’re able to recognize you on sight.

There’s a stirring in the air. You recognize the familiar presence, but you don’t greet him. You’re still too lost in your thoughts.

“The warding you’ve placed over your room is quite thorough.” Castiel acknowledges as he steps out from the corner. You know he’s made an effort to not startle you.

You turn your head towards him. “How did the demons know?”

Castiel halts. “What do you mean?”

“How did they know I was the immortal they were looking for?”

Castiel dithers. You can see he doesn’t have an answer, but you’re not satisfied. You stand up and face him.

“They recognized me on sight even though none of the demons I dealt with before thought I was anything but human. What changed? What about me is different? Enough to tip them off?”

Castiel stares at you for a moment and frowns. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have an explanation for you. I don’t know how they found out about you.”

Your shoulders sag and you slump back on your bed. What’s the point in digging for answers now? They know it’s you and there’s nothing you can do to change it.

“If it truly concerns you, I can try and find out.”

You glance up at the angel. The blue of his eyes swims, signaling the shift in his emotion. Your frown recedes. He’s trying to comfort you.

“But my main focus right now is to protect you.” Castiel’s words catch you off guard and you stare at him.

Is your brain _malfunctioning?_ You’re completely aware of the context, but your mind can’t help being peculiar to those words.

For a man to say _that_ to a woman with such a straight face…

You’re befuddled by your own thoughts. How are you even capable of dwelling on something so _asinine_ when you were riddled with anxiety just seconds ago?

…He’s just so _sincere._

You clear your throat and look away, bemused by how easily Castiel lifted your mood. “So, what was the conclusion upstairs?”

He turns towards the window. His face is stoic, but there’s something about his mannerism that gives off a feeling of dissatisfaction. “Everything remains as is. We’ve known Lilith needed you, now we’re simply clearer as to why.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Really? Even when I’m clearly a liability?” And they’re even leaving you here to run around with the Winchesters.

You whistle at the angels’ apparent reckless decision, but it’s not like you’re complaining. “Can heaven really afford to be so relaxed? I was sure Zachariah or whoever runs the show upstairs would want me turned to cinders…” Your sarcasm trails off. What is originally meant as a quip has opened your mind to something else entirely.

 

_~… “You'll have your own part to play when the time comes…”~_

 

Your conversation with Zachariah flashes through your head, bringing with it a momentous realization. You stare into the wall, all emotions wiped. The insight bears down on you with a crushing weight. You feel anchored to the bed. 

Castiel tenses. “Alice, I understand feeling the need to martyr yourself…” His words fall on deaf ears.

How naïve you were. You should have realized your fate the moment that demon divulged why you were sought for. The only reason **you’re** still alive right now are the two boys on the other side of your walls. They weren’t going to kill you _here_. Oh, no. Lest they want Sam and Dean to feel _disgruntled_ again. They’ll make their move when the boys are distracted; when they’re separated from you. It’s the only logical solution…

All this time you thought you were pitting yourself against them like an opposing player. When in reality, you were just a chess piece… you were being _played…_

“Alice?” The sudden closeness of Castiel’s voice brings you out of your dark, dark thoughts. Noticing your lack of response, he must have approached without your notice.

You stare at the angel, seeing the honesty reflected in his cerulean gaze.

You’re going to die…

All your previous vulnerability comes rushing back. 

“No, I’m not thinking of martyring myself,” you answer in a breathy rasp, but your words are empty.

You shake your head, unable to hold his gaze any longer. He really has no idea. You swallow, feeling a lump build in your throat. Will they make Castiel your executioner? You inwardly shrivel from the idea. You wedge your eyes shut. They can’t be that cruel. It’ll be quick, perhaps even painless. Even if you’re immortal, there must be some efficient way for celestials to end you.

You suddenly laugh out, amused by your own thoughts. You really must not be human; to accept your impending doom so easily.

You think about the brothers sleeping in the next room, how fond you’ve grown of them. They’re your _friends_ , you truly believe that now. You only wish you met them sooner. You wish you had more to give them.

And then there’s the angel standing beside you.

You offer Castiel a docile smile and it seems to ease some of his tension. He’s been watching you with concern for some time now. You grab your spell book and move it out of the way. “Why don’t you sit down already. You’re making me seem like a bad host.”

Castiel slowly lowers himself onto the bed. He lays his hands on his lap, looking like he isn’t too sure where to put them. It makes you smile, and you contemplate him again.

The first time you saw him, he seemed so foreign to you. The way his eyes raked the surroundings, narrowed in their scrutiny. He looked callous… and eerie. And then, you got to spend time with him. Now you know just how off your first impression was.

From your first one-on-one chat with him, you find out he’s oddly sensitive, naïve, and wears his honesty openly. From the incident with Dean and Uriel, you see his loyalty, how empathetic he is to the ones he’s aligned himself with. From today you discover he takes almost every matter with the utmost seriousness, and you realize you’ve yet to see him smile. It makes him awkward in everyday human interactions and yet he’s shown a clear curiosity for those very same humans.

He trusted you so easily… and you were willing to _use_ him. The least you can do is apologize.

“Cass…”

Castiel turns to you.

“If there are angels who disagree with the idea of me being protected… and think I should be destroyed…” You pause to measure his expression. “What would you do?”

You see the thoughts swirl behind his eyes, a look of confliction on his face. The center of his brows is marred in deliberation and when he finally makes a decision, he lifts his head.

“I won’t let them.”

Your heart melts.

You look down at your lap, your lips rendering a painful smile. “But what if I told you that you shouldn’t. That I wasn’t worth it?”

Castiel’s brows furrow. “I don’t understand.”

Your smile falters.

What is it about wanting to confess when you’re faced with death? Is it really just so people could leave with a lighter conscience? To have the weight of your sins absolved before the passing? Sounds quite selfish in your opinion. If you feel guilty, just say sorry and you can run out the clock without dealing with any consequences? Now there’s a moral conundrum if there ever was one.

You don’t want to see the look in his eyes once he knows what kind of person you _really_ are. But he deserves the truth. No more of your schemes. No more manipulations. None of it mattered anymore.

“What if I told you that I’m a liar. A con-artist. That I manipulate the thoughts and feelings of everyone around me just for my own gain.”

Castiel is silent. For the first time, you’re unable to read his emotions.

You turn your face away. Maybe you’re just too afraid to see into his gaze. “I’m not the person you think I am, Cass.” Your shoulders hunch and you tuck your hands between your knees. “I’m sorry. I don’t deserve your protection.”

You hear him expel a sigh. It almost sounds… exasperated.

“You and Dean… for some reason have similar doubts about yourselves.”

You shoot him a questioning look, but his vision is fixed straight ahead. _Dean?_ You suddenly remember the conversation you overheard between the two of them at the hospital.

_~…“Is it true? ... Did I break the first seal? ... Did I start all this?”…~_

Dean must have been blaming himself all this time.

Your brows pucker. No, this isn’t the same. You admit you don’t know the specifics, only from what you read in the supernatural books, but you _do_ know that whatever happened to Dean was forced upon him. He didn’t want to lose his brother, the _only_ family he has left. …But _you?_ You don’t have anyone else. No one to fight for, to sacrifice for, …to live for. You’ve done whatever _you_ wanted. Just you and _for you._ It was lonely sometimes, but hell, was it a great life. Guess you can only be this selfish for so long…

You shake your head. “Cass—”

“Alice,” Castiel interrupts, shifting his gaze back on you. “In Heaven, there is a record of every single human born into existence. And, on that record is a recount of all the actions and decisions every person has made. It helps us decide which souls we admit and which ones we condemn.” He pauses to examine your expression. “So whatever it is that you feel guilty of, I’ve already seen it.”

Your eyes widen. You know you should be angry... or at least annoyed, but you can’t muster either emotion.

“I’ve seen the passing reel of your life. Of Dean’s and of Sam’s. And I disagree. You are _worth_ it.” Castiel interlaces his fingers. And although he’s bowed his back, relaxed and looking more human than ever, he’s also more compelling… almost forceful. You find yourself unable to refute him.

“I’ve been given orders to protect you and I fully intend to see that through.” His pauses, his eyes hardening. “But even if that wasn’t the case, yours isn’t a life that should be extinguished. I would fight to protect it regardless—”

Catching the angel by surprise, you throw your arms around him. He freezes in your abrupt embrace. You lean your head over his shoulder and let out a doleful smile.

Castiel still doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what his superior intends to do. He doesn’t know of the thoughts you’ve inhabited. But you don’t care. This _wonderful, amazing_ creature persists on seeing the best in you and you no longer have any desire to refute him. In this moment, you sincerely wish, if you somehow live through this, you won’t waste _it_ this time. You’ll value each and every breath, appreciate the people in your life, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to become the virtuous person Castiel believes you to be.

“Thanks so much, Cass.” And just as sudden, you let him go.

The angel is completely frozen.

A soft smile appears on your lips. “You really cheered me up.”

* * *

_**Hello, everyone. Some of you may know a recent sensitive topic was broached by Misha Collins regarding the spelling of Cass or Cas.** _

_**I would like to explain the reason I chose the double S spelling is because I came upon the show on Netflix and the captions have always spelled it as "Cass", therefore, it became what I used. It wasn't until I started reading other fanfictions that I realized most of the fandom preferred "Cas" instead. I, personally, am perfectly fine with either and I can get lost into the story with both.** _

_**However, I would like to apologize if the deviation has taken away from the purity of the fandom. It was not my intention. I hope any new readers will not feel deterred because of this. =)** _

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!! Reviewers get to have dinner with Castiel!**


	7. As the Spool Unravels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Winchesters are distracted, Alice is kidnapped, trapped and wounded. Mostly Castiel's P.O.V.  
> ~  
> You mustered the strongest glare you can manage, burning with wrathful defiance.  
> The message was delivered, but the man was hardly impressed. “Well,” he uttered, standing back up. “It’s as they say; the young are often ungrateful.” He shed a sneer, “You’ll see it our way soon enough..."  
> ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I took so long to update the next chapter! I just moved to South Korea and went through a week of intensive training for my new job. I had absolutely no time for anything else, and if we didn't pass the training, I would have had to fly back to Canada using my own money! Thank god that's over. It'll still be hectic for me for the next month with subsequent training, moving into a new apartment, getting furniture and acclimating myself to the city in general. I'll do my best to write when I can!

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!!!**

* * *

 

You lie where you are, staring lightheaded into the ceiling. Grandiose trimmings of the rococo era fill your vision. Your right hand presses against the hemorrhaging wound in your stomach.

You’re alone and with no one to come to your aid. You think you might pass out soon. Your eyes travel along the walls of your prison, the place you’ve been trapped in for the past few days. You’ve lost track of how long.

All along the paintings and the pristine, stucco embellishments are joyful doll-like faces. They peer down at you with empty, mocking eyes, looming over your pitiful appearance while they retain their flawless grace.

You expel a breath, the gasp drifting out of you in a threaded groan.

A few days ago, you’d thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse… How utterly delirious…

Your eyes start to roll back into your head, the memories leading to this reality flowing into your consciousness.

…

 

It had been two days since the encounter with the demons at the factory. You and the Winchesters spent the entire previous night on the road. Finding no lodging anywhere in sight, the three of you had to make do sleeping in the car. It was an experience you hope you never have to replicate ever again. Waking up to the most body-aching morning, the two hunters suddenly received a call from their father’s cell phone. The person on the line called himself Adam Winchester, son of apparently the same man who fathered Sam and Dean. The boys were wary but adamant in a meeting, so they proposed that you stay in a hotel while they investigated this possible new sibling. You immediately agreed, not wanting to get involved in their personal baggage.

So, the brothers drove you into town, and after dropping you in the nearest hotel, they left to meet the mysterious caller. It wasn’t until you were alone that you noticed your mistake. But, by then, it was too late. The angels had come for you.

Two men in dark suits grabbed you before you could utter a single protection spell. The next thing you knew, you were standing in the middle of what you originally thought to be an art gallery or museum. The notion was soon shattered when Zachariah made his entrance.

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here.” His jeering tone was the same.

You looked around warily. The place had no windows or doors. You were hoping you would get a least a few more days. “I think I have a general idea.”

Zachariah seemed genuinely intrigued. “Really? Why do you think you’re here then? I am positively dying to know.”

You eyed the marble table at the center of the room, walking around it in a vain attempt to keep him at a distance. “You couldn’t do this with Dean or Sam watching. But with them sufficiently distracted, you can end me, blame it on the demons, thus providing further motivation.”

Zachariah swayed his head left and right, his brow rising. “That was a much more intelligible answer than I was expecting. Good for you.”

You glared at him.

“But,” he started, “you’re only half right.”

You halted, your eyes trying to dissect his expression. “What am I wrong about?” Perhaps you wouldn’t die here? An inkling of hope sparked within you.

“You’re not here because we want to kill you. You’re here to give us a donation.” He glanced towards the table in front of you, leading your gaze to the same position. Now seated in the center of the previously empty surface was a large jar near a gallon in size. 

You stared at the glass container then back at the angel, your face scrunching in confusion. “A donation?”

“Yes.”

Zachariah evaporated then reappeared in front of you.

You abruptly felt an acute plunge in your abdomen. Looking down, you saw the blooming red on your shirt and a golden ornate blade perforating from your stomach. You stared wide-eyed at the angel. Clutching the wound, you fell back a step.

“A blood donation.”

You breathed in shallow gasps, sinking back to the wall and sliding down the vertical support. You began to feel the drain. In front of you, on the table, you saw the jar slowly filling with red. You glared at the balding man. Of all the reviling thoughts whirling through your mind, all you could wheeze out is a question. “What are you doing?”

Zachariah kneeled, lowering himself to better examine you. “I’m simply following what fate dictates. And fate wants the apocalypse.” He offered you a mocking pout. “This was all meant to happen since the beginning.”

You gritted your teeth, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your pain. “Why?”

He smirked at your struggle. “Why?” He reached out, brushing your hair from your cheek. Despite the scorching agony in your stomach, you still found enough distaste to turn away from his hand.

“For the greater good, of course.”

“How is this the greater good?” you seethed. “The apocalypse will kill billions… innocent…”

Zachariah began to shush you, knowing the lack of blood was taking its toll. The jar beside him was nearly full. “Look, all this must seem very… grating to you now. But with the amount of filth that’s been filling this planet by humanity’s own hand as well as the involvement of demons, Earth is kind of due for a cleansing. And that’s exactly what the apocalypse is. It’s medicine. And once Lucifer is free, Heaven will take up arms and destroy evil once and for all.” His eyes took on a faraway glow, envisioning the battle in his mind. “And then… paradise.”

He cast his gleaming gaze back to you. “And lucky you, the show runners upstairs have already prepared a cozy little spot for you in our new nirvana.”

You closed your eyes, choking back the revulsion scorching through your insides. You should’ve known. You should’ve _known!_ Your instincts were throwing you giant, red, caution signs and you _ignored_ them! He was an angel! An angel like Castiel. You wanted so badly to believe they weren’t the enemy. _Stupid. So damningly stupid._

“It was you…” you squeezed out. “You told the demons about me…”

You hear a chuckle. “Guilty as charged.”

You mustered the strongest glare you can manage, burning with wrathful defiance.

The message was delivered, but the man was hardly impressed. “Well,” he uttered, standing back up. “It’s as they say; the young are often ungrateful.” He shed a sneer, “You’ll see it our way soon enough. But, for now…” He turned towards the jar, now filled to the brim and picked it up by its cap. He waved a hand, gesturing to the substantial amount of your blood that was collected. “Enjoy your recuperation. It’s going to take a while, even for your immortal body, to get all this back.”

He vanished along with the jar.

You let out a cry after his departure, relieved of his presence. With heavy pants and groans, you stared at the menacing dagger buried to the hilt in your abdomen. Taking a few deep breaths, you prepped yourself for the removal. Before you falter, you snatched the hilt. With another gasp of air, you ripped it out, screaming as the blade carved its way to the opening.

The knife dropped with a clang the moment it was free of your flesh.

You seized the burning gap, hissing through your teeth.

Everything was a mess. It was chaos within your mind as you laid trapped within this room, completely weak and useless. You were bleeding out all that’s left and you had no way of contacting someone for help. And yet, despite everything, all you could think of was the angel who said he would protect you.

Castiel, your mind moaned out. Where are you?

 

**~Castiel’s P.O.V.~**

 

I watch curiously as Alice moves away from me and towards her cylindrical bag.

“If you don't mind, I'm gonna get cleaned up first. You can watch some TV if you'd like. Make yourself comfortable.”

At her suggestion, I glance around her modest lodging. I am reminded once again of how burdening a human body can be. Humans want and need constant comfort no matter where they are. As an angel, these desires are foreign. I remain where I am.

“I'd like to ask you about what you witnessed in the building.” I need to know what happened in case the demons are devising some fiendish countermeasure.

Alice nods, but her behavior seems distracted. She continues to gather her clothing. “Yeah, sure. After my shower.” Without further indication, she walks into the smaller adjoining room and closes the door behind her. I’m confused as to why she would place the urgency of a shower above that of a debriefing. Every second matters in this fight against the apocalypse. The sooner she can provide me with answers, the sooner I may relay to my brethren.

I continue to stare at the door.

I’ve come to realize how complicated human beings can be in their thought process. Simply reading the minds of Sam and Dean has shown me that. How chaotic their minds are, constantly pulled and swayed by every whim, emotion, and desire. I don’t know how they live with it.

I blink, correcting myself. Alice _isn’t_ human… but she does live like one. It would help to understand her if I am able to read her mind, but the same block that repelled me from seeing her dreams still wards her from me now. It’s… frustrating, a new emotion I’ve come to know.

I hear a clicking and the door opens, revealing Alice at the threshold in a different set of garbs. Steam rolls out from the tiny room she’s in, carrying with it a perfumed scent. There’s a small smile on her lips as she looks at me, inciting my curiosity again.

“You could've sat down, you know.”

My eyes follow her as she moves back to her bag. “I am comfortable waiting for you as I am.” It’s now after her shower, she must be ready to talk. “Are you free to discuss what transpired at the factory now?”

The girl straightens her back and places two hands on her hips. She stares at me with a look of contemplation. I wait patiently for her to collect her thoughts. Perhaps the ordeal is difficult to recall.

The notion disintegrates when a rather large smile spreads across her face.

“Not just yet. I'm feeling pretty hungry. How 'bout we discuss this over dinner?”

Her reply momentarily stuns me. She isn’t unsettled, _unfocused_ is the word I’d now use. Doesn’t she see the importance of the matter? Apparently not. Alice seems completely oblivious to my distress as she approaches me. When she grabs onto my hand, I feel the familiar electric jolt. She continues to show no sign of detecting the sensation. With me in tow, I stare into the back of her head, wanting very much to read her thoughts.

Wanting… this is another emotion I’ve grown to feel.

We’ve been walking down the streets for a while. The hour is late and most of the humans have retired to their homes. Alice has been silent the entire way. Her arm locks firmly around mine and there’s a determined glint her eyes. I study her through a narrowed gaze, unable to see her mind’s inner workings. I wonder what she’s thinking.

After a few more minutes, I detect the smell of human food. Alice stops in her tracks and glances at me. She gestures to one of the more vibrant buildings, where the scent is strongest. Without waiting for my consent, she pulls me to her desired destination.

Through the entrance, I am greeted with a range of noise and activity. Even in this enclosed establishment, humans stay true to their chaotic nature.

Alice directs me away from the glass doors and towards an empty table. She presses against my shoulder. Her strength is meager, but I allow her to ease me into the cushioned seat behind me. Satisfied with where I am, she moves to sit across from me. I frown as I continue to survey this heavily occupied setting. If she requires sustenance, I would be comfortable waiting for her in the lodging.

Alice waves demurely at a red headed woman standing a few feet away. The female smiles in response and approaches, quickly grabbing two large parchments of some sort from a nearby counter. She places one document in front of each of us and ask us if we wanted drinks.

“Just water. For the both of us, thanks,” Alice replies.

The woman politely nods, turning to walk away.

I settle on watching the girl across from me; my surroundings are too unnerving to follow. Alice flips the document back and around, scrutinizing the list of words and pictures. I briefly glance at the sheet lying on the table. It’s a description of various foods. I look back up, uninterested.

I retreat to my original thought: why this girl has chosen to bring me here with her. Zachariah’s words fly into memory. That must be it. With Lilith on the prowl for an immortal, she must feel endangered. Perhaps my earlier words of consolation weren’t enough. She must want me here to provide protection. I examine our settings once more but with doubled caution.

“The vege-burger, please. With your house fries.” Alice requests when the female returns with two glasses of water. The woman then directs her expectant gaze to me. I glance at Alice for direction, but she simply mirrors my stare, albeit with a strange look on her face.

“And what will you be having, sir?”

I decide to look into the woman’s mind and I finally comprehend what she’s asking.

I hand the paper back to her. “Nothing for me, thank you.”

There is a small emission of curiosity in the female’s thoughts, but she does not act on them. Once she is gone, Alice is laughing. “I’m guessing angels don’t eat?”

I stare into her eyes, trying to discern her impossible thoughts. Why does she appear so amused? “With vessels, we are capable of the task, but it isn’t necessary.” Perhaps answering her question might allow me to understand her.

I halt, immediately discarding the thought. I remind myself of my mission. I am here to protect the immortal and to get further information regarding demons or seals, not to bother myself with the conundrum that is Alice’s mind. The setting provokes my vigil once more. “Do you think it is wise to dine in such a public place?” There are children here, innocents. Should demons attack, I’m not sure I will be able to save all the humans here.

“If it’s demons you’re worried about, I brought a hex bag.”

That doesn’t cure my concern.

“But if push comes to shove, I’m sure you’d be able to protect me.”

I frown. There is something about her tone that doesn’t cohere to her words. Was it… sarcasm? Some of my brothers and sisters sometimes carry the manner. … No, that isn’t it, her words aren’t filled with any disdain.

“Besides… Didn’t you say heaven is watching over me? I feel pretty safe now that I know I’m being scrutinized at every moment.”

My lips press into a stern line. I had thought better of her. It seems, despite her immortal identity, she’s also fallen prey to the same churlish arrogance of all humans.

“Then you misunderstand.” I begin to clarify in my gravest tone. “I did say heaven is guarding you, but we are at war. That mark on your shoulder is what gives us knowledge of your location, and we would come immediately if we detect demons in your proximity. But expecting us to be constantly scrutinizing your movements is impossible.”

I’m once again reminded of Dean’s rant, his obvious bitterness at my lack of assistance. I was able to silence him by threatening to return the man to hell, I wonder if I’ll have to do the same to Alice. I prefer not to. “Like I told Dean, there’s a bigger picture here. We can’t all just follow you around.”

There’s a flash of steel in her gaze, but her expression morphs into regret. Alice is a picture of shame. She lowers her head and apologizes, assuaging my earlier disapproval. Alice, at least, knows when to be humble. However, it would be in her best interest to be more self-aware.

My gaze briefly flickers to the humans, wary of any onlookers. “If these humans overhear our conversation, don’t you think we’ll induce unnecessary panic?”  

Her diffidence disappears and she seems to brush the idea aside entirely.  “Cass, no one is paying attention to us. And even if they did, no one would believe any of what we’re saying.”

That is untrue. I slide my eyes towards a young woman standing off in the far corner. She is dressed similarly to the red-haired woman who served us. “You’re wrong. That particular female has been watching us since we entered this establishment.” I narrow my eyes.

Alice’s body stiffens. “Do you think we should question her? Maybe she knows something.”

She finally appears to see the weight of our situation.

“Perhaps. It’s a possibility.” I begin to reach for the mind of the staring woman. Before I can make the connection, Alice’s laughter cuts my concentration. I glance back at her. “Why are you laughing?”

She indicates that _I_ am the cause. I don’t recall acting in any way that would draw hilarity.

“That girl isn’t sneaking looks at us because she’s suspicious. She’s sneaking looks at you because she’s interested in you.” She notices my lack of understanding. “She’s interested in you romantically, Cass. Or sexually, or both.”

I immediately withdraw myself, relieved I did not breach the woman’s mind. “Oh.”

Mild annoyance stirs within me. I don’t appreciate being toyed with. But given her earlier concession, I’ll overlook the conduct. “It’s the appearance of my vessel that she admires. Not I.”

This seems to peak her interest, and she readily abandons her earlier humor. “Your vessel?”

“I am currently possessing the body of a man named Jimmy Novak. He resigned his body to me when I descended from Heaven to fulfill my mission.”

“Possess? Like the demons.”

My jaw sets. It is blasphemy to compare their existence to us. “Jimmy Novak _gave me_ his permission.” I emphasize. “Angels cannot inhabit a human body otherwise. He is my destined vessel.”

Alice asks if Jimmy is still inside his body.

“With me in control, his soul mostly sleeps.”

She watches me, her expression now a mirror of the same curiosity I have for her. “So this isn’t really you I’m looking at. What do you really look like then?”

Our conversation is briefly cut short when our server brings Alice her meal. I resume my explanation when she leaves. “Humans are unable to perceive our true forms.” I suddenly recall the woman named Pamela, who dared try to glimpse my appearance despite my warnings. She was blinded as a result and subsequently had her life taken by demons not long after. “At least, not without incurring heavy costs.” I cannot deny that I am partially responsible.

Alice is sober. “I see… So, once all this is over, Jimmy will get his body back and you’ll return to Heaven?”

“Yes.” That is the plan.

“That’s too bad. I think I’ve grown rather fond of you.”

Her words dislodge my thoughts and I can’t remember what I was thinking.

She is… _fond_ of me?

I begin to feel wary. Such emotions will only complicate—she’s laughing again.

I inwardly sigh. This is beginning to try my patience. I don’t understand. Alice has clearly shown me the foresight she possesses, and yet, how is she still capable of being so childish? When she confronted me that day, struck me with the unsettling details that I’ve never questioned, she was persuasive, _compelling._ But here, although she’s displayed her prowess for maturity, she seems intent on disregarding any sound judgement. I’ve never come upon a creature more contradicting. If there is any consistency to her character, it would be her ability to continuously undermine my expectations of her.  

I decide to bring us back to the matter at hand. “What did you see in the factory?”

Alice sighs, her sight falling to the dish in front of her. There is a slight dip between her brows, but otherwise, there are no hints to what she might be thinking. I study her face. Usually, it’s quite expressive, but there are times like this when it becomes still with the most minute of flickers to suggest her intentions.

The average human, I’ve noticed, does not or cannot control their expressions. But some, like the Winchesters, would often mask their tumultuous swirl of emotions behind anger, sarcasm, or indifference. Regardless of their efforts, I can always see the truth in their eyes. I can read the disturbance in their gaze even without the access to their mind. However, with Alice, it isn’t so simple. It’s veiled, _guarded…_ just like her mind. It’s frustrating… especially when I know it’s times like this when her face is controlled that her thoughts are most abundant. I wonder if it’s a trait of her singularity or a practiced skill.

When she looks up, her expression changes again. “Can’t you just read my mind?”

I pull back. There’s something different about the tenor of her voice; it’s heavier somehow.

“That’s what you did to our waitress.” Her eyes shift to the earlier female. “The way you stared at her. You read her mind, didn’t you? Why don’t you read mine?”

What is this hidden narrative in her voice? I hear her question, but I feel it’s cloaking something else. Is she toying with me again? I thought she understood why I can’t. “Like I told you before, there is a barrier around your mind. I wasn’t able to access it then and I’m still unable to.”

She nods slowly, her mouth forming a silent “o”. So, she finally remembers. Alice looks away, the same veiled gaze back on her face. She picks up a strip of fried potato… fries, I believe they’re called, and chews. “I wonder if it’s just you… Maybe, if there was another angel that night, they’d be able to see what I was dreaming—”

“I assure you, it’s not.”

There are no varying aptitudes to an angel’s ability for seeing into a living being’s mind. If the mind is warded, it will be warded against _all of us,_ unless a special exception is made within the spell.

“However that barrier is created, it’s strong. Witches and warlocks have been known to defend their minds in a similar way, but yours is different… far more ancient.”

If heaven is inclined to break the barrier in her mind, the means are there. It’s only a matter of gathering the resources and energy necessary to pierce it…and the mental state that will befall her after-the-fact.

“As you are now, I doubt even the archangels will be able to read you.”

There’s a small tug from the edge of her lips. “What about the angel wardings? Is this something similar to that? If they can physically repel angels from a building, can they do it to someone’s mind?” The mask is gone. Her face is now an open canvas of absolute dread. “What if the barrier in my head is demon made?”

She’s jumping to conclusions. Although in both circumstances, angels are repelled, the two situations are strictly separate. Why is it that whenever humans encounter something unknown, they leap to theorize the most disparaging outcome?

But I remind myself. Alice is not human, and _her_ circumstances are as grim as they are exclusive. Perhaps some sympathy is warranted.

“Calm down, Alice. The wardings used by the demons can only repel us physically. Not only that, they also have to be drawn onto a surface with blood. The moment the marks are washed away or altered, the entire barrier would fall apart.” She’s attentive to my words but the upset hasn’t left her. I try harder.

“If it’s any solace, I was able to touch your barrier and I can assure you it isn’t demon made. If anything, its singularity is reminiscent of the markings in your spell book. Ancient. But not demonic.”

Her features finally ease and she leans back. Alice stares into the table, looking relieved and daunted. But then the veil is back and I’m shut out. Moments pass as I scrutinize her hooded gaze. After a while, I give up and simply wait for her next words.

“…Why?” she whispers.   

“What?”

Alice appears slightly startled. She blinks and her expression switches into casual interest. “I was just wondering. Why did you give my book back to me?”

My brows pucker. “Because it belonged to you.” Is the answer not obvious?

She mirrors my confusion, further fueling my own.

“It’s filled with spells that you can’t read. Weren’t you concerned that I might’ve used it against you? Used it to escape?”

Why would she? We were providing her with protection. She gave her own agreement that her presence would be better secured with us. “No.”

“ _Why?_ ” she asks again.

“Because _you said_ you would stay.”

Alice becomes quiet. There’s a hardening in the edges of her irises and a tight line delineates the seams of her lips. I can feel the distinct shift in her energy, but the changes are too rapid to get a lucid reading. I don’t know what’s going through her mind or what kind of internal reaction my words have elicited. I only know that something I said is affecting her.  

Her line of questions befuddles me and I can only grasp at what the intent could be. I know mistrust among humans is commonplace. Understandable. Humans lie, cheat, are capable of committing acts of unspeakable horror to themselves and even the ones they love. Had I taken Uriel’s advice and treated the Winchesters in a similar regard, this would be a very different conversation. But there’s something about them I can’t ignore. After all, _they_ were the ones chosen by heaven. Perhaps it’s the same invisible factor that urges me to place my faith in them, in _her._

When Alice seems to resolve her internal dialogue, a brilliant smile shines across her face. The back and forth switches from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other has me dithering. How can she darken with anxiety and fear only to beam with good-humor the next? The notion of being human appears utterly exhausting.  

“There was about a dozen of them.” Her smile grows soft and her expression mildly apologetic when she sees my disorientation. “Back in the factory. Only a dozen demons, easy enough to take out.”

A scene I caught in a park days ago flashes across my mind: a father sighing in relief after numerous attempts to pacify his child. I feel an urge to echo the action.

Finally, compliant, Alice explains the situation between bites of food. What she describes does not correspond to any of the seals engrained in my memory. Perhaps the demon locked away in the Winchesters’ vehicle will shed some light on the matter. Upon my words, Alice receives a call. It’s the younger of the two brothers. I’m relieved to know they are ready for the questioning. I’ve been eager to leave for a while. Once Alice attains the address, she gestures for me to depart. I’m one step ahead of her.

 

***

 

I walk swiftly down the white halls of Heaven’s inner sanctum. Arriving at my superior’s office, I reach out to turn the knob. The door swings open before my hand makes contact.

“Castiel, good to see you. Please, come in.”

I approach Zachariah’s desk. The man is sitting in his chair with his usual smile. I didn’t know he’s been expecting me. I dip my head in acknowledgment. “I’ve come to tell you the Winchesters and I have discovered why Lilith has been after an immortal, more specifically, Alice. They want her blood.” I recite what the hell-spawn had chanted.

Zachariah looks on in thought. “I see.”

“In addition, the demon states that Lilith now knows who and what Alice is. They will be sending more demons after her.”

The man gives a slow nod. “That is a problem.”

I concur. “As of now, she is under the Winchesters’ protection. But I feel it is best if I returned to her side as soon as possible.” I remember the terror-stricken look on her face.

At my words, his eyes flicker in my direction. “Yes, you are to keep guarding her.” He leans forward from his seat. “And make sure you do not divulge any of what you learned to the other angels.”

I knit my brows. “I don’t understand.”

Zachariah momentarily closes his eyes. “Think, Castiel. Should some of our brothers and sisters hear that we are protecting an immortal, the key to opening Lucifer’s cage, they may feel conflicted about our decision. The archangel specifically ordered her protection. And so, the last thing we need right now is another episode like Uriel.”

I nod in understanding. Bowing my head, I turn to leave.

“And Castiel.”

I glance back to my commander.

Zachariah steels his gaze. “Do not get attached, am I clear?”

Lifting my head, my jaw grows rigid. “Yes.”

Seemingly satisfied with my answer, Zachariah permits me to leave. I exit Heaven’s inner quadrants with haste, compelling myself to believe the immortal is still safe with the Winchesters. The second I set foot outside the gate, I transport myself to the human realm. Touching down in Alice’s room, I feel the elaborate warding and protection spells she has placed around her room. To further escape detection, there are added enchantments to obscure any residual trace of magic capable of setting off a demon’s curiosity. Had Uriel not burned Alice with a tracking mark, even angels would have a difficult time finding her.   

I choose to land in a far corner of her room, not wanting to startle her again.

The space is dark. The only light that grants any visibility is from outside the window. The stray glows cast through the blinds and spill striped patterns on the opposite wall. With her back facing the window, Alice sits at the bedside. Her figure is frozen and closed off. Even without the access to her mind, I can feel her distress.

“The warding you’ve placed over your room is quite thorough,” I say when she still hasn’t noticed my presence.

Her shoulders lift and fall in a barely discernable motion. She turns her face towards me, her eyes bleak and burning with unrest. “How did the demons know?”

When I voice my lack of understanding, she asks again. “How did they know _I_ was the immortal they were looking for?”

I frown. When the demon singled her out as the immortal, I had been just as alarmed. At first, I wondered if her being in the Winchester’s presence somehow drew the demons’ attention, but Alice has been under constant guardianship of the angels, and we _made sure_ that there were no demons in her proximity… save the factory of course. Perhaps something else happened in there that revealed Alice’s identity to them? Something not even she or the Winchesters were made aware of?

Alice abruptly stands up, her eyes tense and gleaming. Her shoulders are rolled back and her spine rigid. “They recognized me on sight even though none of the demons I dealt with before thought I was anything but human. What changed? What about me is different? Enough to tip them off?”

Uriel’s face flashed in my mind and it sets a heavy, nauseous feeling deep inside me. I lurch away from the thought. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have an explanation for you. I don’t know how they found out about you.” All I have are speculations and I don’t want to place unnecessary blame on anyone or anything that doesn’t deserve it.

Disappoint spills across her face. Alice turns her saddened gaze to the ground and drops back on her bed. The reaction has me feeling restless. I was appointed her guard. I should’ve been in that factory with them. If I had, then we could have avoided this entire situation.

My thoughts pull to a stop.

What am I thinking? Because of this episode, we now know _exactly_ why Lilith wants Alice. Furthermore, she is still _safe_ under Heaven’s guard. With the strength of the celestial legions, the immortal will never be touched.

Alice stares into the carpet, solemnity etching a heavy line across her brows. My confidence falters.

“If it truly concerns you, I can try and find out.” Why am I offering to take on such a tedious task? With the seals breaking, I have a clear list of objectives that are far more critical. Although, perhaps pursuing the detail may help uncover something useful. For whatever reason, I feel as though I owe her this much. I reiterate to her that her protection is still the top priority.

Alice looks surprised, but my words seem to lift her spirits. She blinks a few times and tugs her vision to the side. _Sheepish_ is the word that comes to mind. She clears her throat. “What was the conclusion upstairs?

I relay to her my orders.

“Really? Even when I’m clearly a liability? Can Heaven really afford to be so relaxed? I was sure Zachariah or whoever runs the show up there would want me turned to cinders…” Alice trails off.

I frown. Her words are in poor taste. She’s innocent and doesn’t deserve to die. But the comment unsettles me. Does she truly think herself a liability? I study her expression. Her face is turned halfway to the wall and her eyes cloud with deliberation. There’s a slight crease between her eyebrows, but like always, she shows no clear indication of her thoughts. If she is thinking of ending herself…

Urgency leaps within me. I must convince her otherwise. “Alice, I understand feeling the need to martyr yourself, but until we have a better grasp on the situation, it is better not to fill your head with such excessive notions.”

She stays immobile, still lost in her own mind. She doesn’t seem to have heard me.

Impatient, I approach her motionless figure, calling out to her again.

Alice stirs, successfully roused. She blinks then shakes her head. “No, I’m not thinking of martyring myself.”

So, she did hear me. She starts to meet my eyes but then shies away again. What is she thinking? The itch to see inside her mind never felt stronger. Pain flashes across her face and she swallows. Before I can ask her what her affliction is, she lets out a laugh. Her expression is a mixture of amusement and something else… Grief?

As if on impulse, my hand reaches out. The motion surprises me and I jerk back, curling my fingers into a fist. The feeling is strange and illicit and it fills me with an odd sense of foreboding. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to have noticed my behavior.

Still looking at the wall, her face suddenly softens. Alice turns to me and offers a bright smile. My apprehension evaporates. Is it possible that she overcame her earlier fear? She grabs the spell book on the bed and tosses it behind her. “Why don’t you sit down already. You’re making me feel like a bad host.”

I prefer to keep standing, but something about the situation compels me to oblige her. I lower myself to the seat next to her. The mattress sinks under my weight. The sensation is distinctly different to the sturdy planks of the bench. I think I favor the bench. When she says my name, I look at her.

“If there are angels who disagree with the idea of me being protected and think I should be destroyed… what would you do?”

Her question stumps me. I didn’t expect her to perceive the possibility… or even the probability with what Uriel had done and the others he was able to convince. I grit my teeth. No, it won’t be allowed to happen, and I will stand against them just as I had against Uriel.

“I won’t let them.” I assert my decision.

Her eyes widen and she breaks into a smile. But it doesn’t imbue her gaze with its usual glow. “But what if I told you that you shouldn’t. That I wasn’t worth it?” Her voice grows soft and wispy, like she’s given up. I find myself feeling irritated.

“I don’t understand.”

“What if I told you that I’m a liar. A con-artist. That I manipulate the thoughts and feelings of everyone around me just for my own gain. I’m not the person you think I am, Cass. I’m sorry.” She turns her face away. Locks of hair fall past her ears to curtain over her eyes. She slips her hands in the space between her knees. She looks smaller, more vulnerable. She’s never shown such… _fragility_ , even under the wrath of Uriel. “I don’t deserve your protection.”

Dean’s well of guilt-ridden, self-loathing sentiments reemerge in my mind. I give an exasperated sigh, wondering how many times I’d have to repeat myself. All this doubt that these humans have, that Alice has, it’s growing tiresome. And I tell her as much.

She shakes her head. “Cass—”

“Alice.” I silence her with a look. I tell her of Heaven’s record, of the things about her life and Dean’s life and Sam’s life, everything that I’ve seen. There’s nothing that would warrant their damnation. They did what they could, they made mistakes, and they acted (more or less) selflessly. And it’s all I need to cement my decisions.

She stares at me in wordless surprise.

I look down at my hands as I interlace my fingers. The action seems to strengthen my line of thought. “I’ve been given orders to protect you and I fully intend to see that through.” I pause, tightening the grip in my hands. “But even if that wasn’t the case, yours isn’t a life that should be extinguished. I would fight to protect it regardless—”

There is a flash of movement and she catches me off guard. Before I know what she’s doing, her arms are thrown around my shoulders, locking me in an embrace. Her head brushes against my neck and the electric pull shoots through me. The scent of wildflower fills my senses. I immobilize myself, feeling her body press against mine. There’s something incomprehensibly dangerous about this situation.

“Thanks so much, Cass,” Alice whispers against my ear. And then, just as abruptly, she releases me. Her eyes are pools of deep honey. “You really cheered me up.”

 

***

 

The demon screeches as I lay my hand upon his head, the holy energy burning through his core. Effectively erased, the empty body slumps over the concrete floor. I watch as the human soul slowly drift free from its physical confines.

“That’s the last one,” Theliel states from behind me.

I turn to my comrade-in-arms. “How many seals are there left?”

Theliel shakes his head. “Not many.”

The vessel he has taken is that of a young man who has not yet reached two decades. The boy’s hair is dressed with short brown curls and his eyes are the color of brimstone. Like all the other angels, we take on the attire of what our vessels wore at the moment of possession. His is a school uniform.

“I don’t understand how the demons are capable of unraveling as many as they have.” He glowers down at the hollow bodies by his feet. “They’re so weak.”

 _But resilient_ , I think to myself. They must be, given how long they’ve survived throughout the span of mankind.

“I’ll clean this up, Castiel. You can leave. I understand you have another assignment.” He dips his head towards me, sending a look of support.

I nod my head, grateful for his compassion, and depart.

Touching down in front of Heaven’s inner gate, I waste no time to enter. When I reach Zachariah’s office, the man is not there. Strange. He normally notified me prior if he’s to be away. I glance around the ivory space. I could wait, send a message requesting his attention. I know it’s protocol, something I _should_ do. But curiosity and a sense of premonition burgeon within me.

Giving the atrium another scanning sweep, I spread out my senses and feel for his presence. I detect Zachariah’s angelic energy in the upper tiers, near the sector where Joshua resides. Even stranger...

Joshua isn’t a soldier… at least not anymore. He always preferred more peaceful endeavors and was eventually tasked with the maintenance of Heaven’s many divisions. I proceed through the maze of corridors and ambivalent doorways until I reach the gate that would lead me there.

A small, metal archway embedded in the white-washed walls stands before me. It appears insignificant and commonplace compared to the multiple other doors that line the vast hall. Like all the others, a swirl of light and color swim and melt across the entry like a gravity defying pool. I’m certain it’s Zachariah’s energy beyond this portal.

My eyes flit to either ends of the hall. I know I’m alone. Nearly all the angels are currently still entangled in battles against the demons or standing on guard against them. I grimace at myself. It’s not as though I’m committing any malfeasance. Squaring my shoulders, I step through the portal. No sooner does my foot touch the other side that I feel the immediate crushing pressure of an archangel’s presence. I throw my gaze into the distance, through the lush greenery that encompasses my vision. In this fragmented dimension is Joshua’s garden, stretching endlessly in emerald flecked by a spectrum of hues. I can see my commander standing at its center. He looks upward, but all that can be perceived is a blinding glare, a searing glimpse of Michael’s power. When the archangel speaks, his voice reverberates through the surroundings.

Zachariah is a picture of humility. “Everything is occurring on schedule. There are only a handful of seals left.”

The booming voice questions further.

My superior shakes his head. “The incident with Uriel will not happen again. The soldiers are doing what they are told, each knowing precisely enough to get their job done—” He’s interrupted by another question.

“The immortal is in our custody. I will have her blood prepared by then—” Zachariah grimaces when he is cut off for a third time. A muscle twitches in his jaw when he unclamps his mouth to answer. “I assure you! He will be freed just as fate dictates.”

My eyes widen. What am I hearing? I step back through the portal, pulling myself away from the inconceivable discussion between my commander and the zenithal archangel. My eyes trail along the colorless walls of the hallway while I press a hand on the one side. There must be a reasonable explanation for what I just heard. I rack my brain for the justification. _Alice’s blood? Only a handful of seals left?_ They’re trying to set Lucifer free!

Why? Why is the archangel planning for the apocalypse, planning for _his_ freedom? They’re going to take Alice’s blood!

I bristle.

Alice!

I snap out of my spiraling confusion. I must warn her; I must warn them all. I rush down the halls, turning every which way until I’m past the main gate. I halt, realizing I would only draw Zachariah’s attention if I visit them. My eyes clench together as my mind searches for a solution. Perhaps an alternate meeting place. I can place wards against the other angels. Yes. I’ll send them a message indirectly.

I fixate my senses on Alice’s tracking mark. I frown. It’s no use, the girl is asleep; I can’t reach her dreams.

Dean!

He, I can reach. I immediately send the tendrils of my mind towards the older Winchester. Plunging my consciousness into his, I let my body fall towards the mortal realm.

In his dreams, Dean is sitting in a chair by a lake on a mid-noon day. A fishing rod sits loosely in his left hand while his right relaxes on his lap. I quickly advance to where he is.

“We need to talk.” I must make this brief.

Dean is quick to catch on. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

“It’s not safe here, someplace more private.”

The man shoots me an odd look. “More private? We’re inside my head.”

“Exactly, someone could be listening.” I glance around his dream world, wary of potential eavesdroppers.

“Cass, what’s wrong?”

I materialize the desired location onto a sheet of paper, promptly handing the information to Dean. “Meet me here. Go. Now.” And with that, I vacate his consciousness. Pulling myself back to the physical reality, I move to the very destination I gave him.

When I arrive, I inspect the building. A storage warehouse only partially filled with obsolete machines and hasn’t been disturbed in months. A heavy layer of metal dust coats the property, filling the air with a copper taste. It certainly appears discreet enough. To my right is a support beam, still strong as it soars towards the ceiling to uphold the building’s structural integrity. There are three more just like it. I grab onto a section of the metal support, ripping the rod from the frame. Using the jagged edge, I dig into my left arm and draw out the blood needed for the angel wards. Once a large enough incision is made, I discard the rod. Pulling my fingers across the wound, I lap up as much of the crimson liquid as I can before I approach the nearest wall. Just as I’ve drawn the first symbol, I feel the arrival of my brothers behind me.

“What do you think you’re doing, Castiel?”

I silently curse in Enochian. “Jael, Hamon.” I turn towards them with a frown. “You don’t understand.”

The two angels have their blades readied. Zachariah must know then.

“We were told to bring you back by any means necessary.”

I stand on guard, prepared to bring out my own weapon. I wonder if I am able to convince them of my reasons. “Brothers, let me explain.”

For a moment, I am relieved as Jael moves to sheath his blade. But the relief shatters when he brings out the Revocation Crest.

“No!” I am blinded by the Crest’s power, my objection lost. I struggle to stay latched within my vessel, but it’s hopeless. I am ripped Jimmy’s body and sent hurling back to Heaven. 

* * *

  **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!! Reviewers get to spring a surprise hug on Castiel!**

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	8. Until the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seconds tick away as Alice and Dean race to stop the worst from happening.  
> ~  
> “You sure you’re okay? You still look like a friggin’ ghost and uh… kinda drained, ya know?”  
> You sigh. “With the amount of blood I’ve lost, I oughtta be dead. I think I can now successfully believe I’m an immortal.”  
> Dean wrings out a wry grin. “Yeah. Just in time to watch the world go to hell.”

“W..ke ...p!”

You hear a muffled voice. The sound is jumbled and far away, as if you’re listening from underwater.

“ **H..y, w...ke up!** ” The harsh voice calls on you again, this time appearing louder and clearer.

A tremor ripples through your awareness. The motion’s force latches onto you, dragging you back to the surface of consciousness. You can feel someone close.

“ **Alice! You goddamn immortal! Wake the hell up!** ” The proximity of Dean’s voice blasts through your ears, forcing your eyes open.

You blink a few times, adjusting to the light. “Dean?”

The older Winchester sighs in relief. “I would say thank God, but I’m pretty sure he’s the reason we’re in this mess.”

You look around the room, realizing with dejection that you’re still trapped. Your eyes trace back to Dean’s worried face. “Why are you here?”

Dean helps to ease your back onto the wall. There’s a dark look on his face. “I could ask you the same thing, but I’m beginning to get the gist of it.” When you seem capable of holding your position, he lets go. Glaring down at your wound, he rubs the back of his head angrily. “Dammit! How the hell was I tricked so easily?! All this time, Sammy and I thought you were taken by demons! When you were really…”

You pass a leering glance at your old wound. You weren’t aware that your hand kept its clutched position over the gash. Lifting a few fingers away, you inspect the injury. The bleeding has stopped at the very least. “I wouldn’t be so hard on myself if I were you. I was fooled too. Even Cass-”

“Cass knows.”

You fix your eyes on his seething figure. He lifts his head to meet your gaze, pupils burning from the sores of betrayal. His expression confirms your suspicions, but you refuse to believe it.

Dean falls to a sit beside you, his head shaking and his lips curled into an ironic smile. “From the beginning, we were getting jerked around by dickhead angels so we can stop the seals and the apocalypse. They had us with our heads so far up our own asses we didn’t even realize we were digging our own graves.” He punches the marble ground.

You stare at the fuming hunter.

Is it true? Should you believe his words? You recall Castiel from your recent memories, the straightforward, awkward, and innocent angel who was so singularly focused on your protection. Had he really decided to forsake humanity?

You wince at the thought. Despite Dean’s revelation, you can’t seem to bring yourself to feel the same wrath. The angel in your memories was trying so hard. You decide to place your focus elsewhere. “Dean, if you’re here. Where’s Sam?”

The man’s anger momentarily stills, then a wave of melancholy follows. He doesn’t meet your gaze. “We had a fight. He split.”

You raise your eyebrows incredulously. “You had a fight,” you repeat slowly. “Just when the apocalypse is about to happen.”

He jerks an irked glance at you. “You don’t understand! He was drinking demon blood! It’s like he wasn’t even Sam anymore!”

You give him the most exasperated look you can muster. “Dean, what are you talking about? That’s a total Sam thing to do! All he ever wanted was to save people! And with his demon powers, he can pull the demons out without killing the hosts.” You gesture towards him. “Even you couldn’t do that with your demon blade!”

“You actually agree with him? You think him drinking demon blood is just another vitamin supplement?”

“Of course not!” You rebuke defensively. You think you feel lightheaded again. “However misguided his actions may be, his goal has always been to protect you and to save others. He’s doing his best with the options he’s got, Dean.” You sigh.

Perhaps Cass, too, is doing his best with what he’s been given. Can you really fault them for that?

You watch the gloom overshadows his features. “And with the end of the world just around the corner, you guys should be sticking together even more.”

Dean’s shoulders sag. “I know. I already got the earful from Bobby.” He draws out a long puff of air.

When you see his anger dissipate, you snort from your nose. “Good on Bobby. Had a fight…. Wow.” You repeat in part disbelief part taunt.

“All right, all right. I get it.” He gets up from his seat, swatting the air beside him in annoyance.

“Call him.”

There’s an irritated look on his face, but he takes out his phone regardless. Pressing a few quick buttons, he brings the phone to his ear.

“You can’t reach him, Dean. You’re outside your coverage zone.”

The familiar voice snatches your attention, making your heart leap. You stare transfixed at the seraph, still startled by his sudden intrusion. There is a painful clenching inside you.

 _Castiel…. What are you thinking?_ The question echoes in your mind.

Dean refuses to acknowledge the angel’s presence. “What’re you going to do to Sam?”

Castiel frowns. You know he can see you, but the man keeps his line of vision stubbornly forward. With a stiff jaw, he turns away, hiding his face from you. “I’m not going to do anything to him. He’ll do it to himself.”

Dean swerves around, his attention successfully captured. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Castiel still denies Dean’s gaze, or yours.

The hunter takes another step forward. “I said, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The angel appears utterly helpless. With an uncomfortable noise in his throat, he unclenches his jaw. “I’m sorry.”

You feel compelled to believe him.

“Sorry?” An abrupt rage washes over the hunter. Pulling back his fist, he punches the angel across the face. There’s a clear sound of flesh meeting metal when the contact is made. Pained, Dean spins around, grimacing at the pulsing sting in his hand.

“Dean!” you cry out at his unwarranted actions. Lurching upward, you try to stand, but the twisting wound in your stomach and the lack of blood cripple you. After a single step, you fall forward. Your arm catches the side of the table on your way down.

“Alice!” Dean pales, running towards you. “What the hell are you doing? Zachariah took over half the blood in your body! Stay down, you idiot!” He positions himself beside you, steadying your frame by grabbing onto the sides of your arms. Despite Dean’s scolding, your attention isn’t with him. Your sudden interjection finally draws the attention of the unsuspecting angel. Castiel stares at you, unable to tear his eyes away. You see the heavy ache and guilt on his face. You want to tell him you understand, but a part of you keeps your lips firmly sealed.

Following your eyes, Dean rears an angry head back to Castiel. “Do you see this, you son of a bitch? You were supposed to protect her! We were supposed to stop the apocalypse together! And now you’re just turning right around to stab us in the back?!”

A painful strain carves across Castiel’s face. “Try to understand. This is long foretold. This is your-”

“Destiny?” Dean finishes scornfully. Realizing you’re able to stay on your two feet with the support of the table, he steps away from you. Sending a chilling glare towards the angel, he focuses his attention back on hurling verbal attacks. “You’re such a child, Cass. Destiny. God’s plan. It’s all a bunch of lies! It's just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line!”

Castiel is restless, but maintains his stubborn silence.

“You know what's real? People, families, that's real! And you're gonna watch them all burn?”

Castiel snaps. “What is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here! I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion. In paradise, all is forgiven. You'll be at peace. Even with Sam.” He turns to you with a desperate plea. “You’ll be _safe_.”

You return his gaze with a sad look. You understand where his reasoning is coming from, but there is a certain flaw to the logic. You just can’t pinpoint where. Even if all the humans killed during the apocalypse go to Heaven as a result, you know something fundamentally disastrous will occur. You can’t explain how you know, or why you know. You just do.

You breathe out a shaky breath. “Castiel, I once asked you if you would continue following orders even if you felt there was something wrong. So now I will ask you again. Do you still think humanity is worth protecting?”

Castiel stares into your unwavering eyes, the memory of your former conversation eroding his current resolve.

“This is simple, Cass. No more crap about being a good soldier. There's a right and there's a wrong here, and you know it!” Dean follows up on your question, his voice takes on an earnest note. “You were going to help us once, weren't you? You were gonna warn me about all this, before they dragged you back to bible camp!”

Your eyes flicker towards Dean, unaware of that occurrence.

“Help us now! Please.”

Castiel is fighting an internal struggle. “What will you have me do?”

There’s a spark of hope on Dean’s face. “Get me to Sam, we can stop this before it's too late!”

The angel lifts his head, alarm flashing in his eyes. “I do that, we will all be hunted. We'll be killed!” He scans Dean’s face before moving on to you, but both your expressions are resolute.

“Cass.” Dean brings the angel’s attention back. “If there's anything worth dying for, this is it.”

The angel’s expression falters, and Dean loses his patience. He turning his back on Castiel. “You, spineless, soulless son of a bitch. What do you care about dying? You're already dead. We're done.”

“Dean.” Castiel pleads.

“We're done.”

You watch silently as the seraph disappears. Desolation hangs over the room. Realizing you and the hunter are now alone, Dean slowly makes his way back to you.

“You sure you’re okay? You still look like a friggin’ ghost and uh… kinda drained, ya know?”

You sigh, the dry humor isn’t lost on you. “With the amount of blood I’ve lost, I oughtta be dead. I think I can now successfully believe I’m an immortal.”

Dean wrings out a wry grin. “Yeah. Just in time to watch the world go to hell.”

You close your eyes. You really thought Castiel would come through. There’s a bitter heaviness in your stomach, wrought from disappointment.

A muffled gasp breaks out beside you, and you snap your head in Dean’s direction. Your eyes widen.

Dean is pushed to the wall with a hand over his mouth, and the hand belongs to none other than the angel in question. Castiel has reappeared. He shoots you a silencing look.

You stare stunned at his alarming actions. Looking back to Dean, he eyes the demon knife at the man’s waist. Taking the blade, he slowly moves his hand from the hunter’s lips. Dean watches the angel warily, glancing back and forth from the knife.

Before you can react, Castiel pulls the metal edge across his arm. He then hands the knife back to Dean, who accepts it absentmindedly. Soaking his free hand over the bleeding wound, he begins to drag a crimson line across the eggshell wall.

Among the confusion, you notice movement in the corner of your vision. Another unexpected appearance, this time from a far less welcomed guest.

“Castiel. Would you mind explaining just what the hell you're doing?” Zachariah approaches with a wrathful menace.

Castiel turns to his superior, a look of defiance burning in his eyes. Having finished with the sigil, he presses his hand atop the bloody sign, evoking its power. A flash of light sears through your vision as Zachariah is blasted from the room.

When you open your eyes again, Dean is standing by Castiel’s side with an equally confused expression.

“He won't be gone long. We have to find Sam now.”

At his words, an immense relief washes over you. The tidal wave of emotion almost leaves you feeling faint. You didn’t realize how deep of an influence Castiel had on you, and you’re a little troubled by it.

The angel quickly turns to you and reaches out his hand. He examines your face for permission before pressing his palm against your wound. You inhale deeply when you feel a surging heat spreading from his hand.

Unable to keep patient, Dean dives straight to the matter concerning his brother. “Where is he?”

As Castiel’s hand retreats, a tingling feeling is left in its wake. You glance down at your stomach. The previous open gash is now replaced by clean, smooth skin. Your color and vitality have also returned; you feel completely refreshed.

Finishing with your restoration, Castiel replies to the hunter. “I don't know. But I know who does. We have to stop him from killing Lilith.”

You and Dean exchange puzzled looks.

“But Lilith's gonna break the final seal.” Dean states as if to remind everyone.

Castiel’s eyes harden. “Lilith _is_ the final seal. She dies, the end begins.”

When the foreboding words sink in, every fiber of Dean’s appearance screams panic. “We gotta go. We gotta go now!”

Without missing a beat, Castiel grabs you and Dean by the arm. The three of you vanish.

When you feel solid ground again, it takes you a minute before you recognize where you are. The contrast between the bright interior of your previous lavish prison and this current commode is jarring. Weak, yellow lighting ebb from the skewed light fixture on the walls. The paint is aged and chipping and the messy state of affairs of the rest of the room does little to add to its comeliness.

“This isn’t supposed to happen…”

Chuck Shirley, aka God’s prophet, stares numbly at the three intruders who just appeared in his living room. A voice sounds from the phone held slack in his hands, snapping his attention back to reality.

“Uh, no. This is definitely supposed to happen. I just have to call you back.” The anxiety-ridden novelist sets his phone down. “Why are you guys here?”

Dean steps forward. “We need to get to Sam. Tell us where he is.”

The prophet looks nervously at each of your faces. “W-well, he’s at Saint Mary’s right now. What’s going on?”

The hunter ignores his question. “Saint Mary’s. What is that, a convent?”

“Yeah,” Chuck stutters, “but you guys aren't supposed to be there. You're not in this story.”

Castiel lifts his head. “Yeah, well. We're making it up as we go.”

You and Dean stare at your angelic ally, eyes wide with unexpected approval. Pride swells within your chest.

Just as the comradery between the three of you is re-forged, the ground starts to shake. Various objects are knocked off the walls, tables, and shelves. The light from the windows grows increasingly intense.

“Ah man, not again.” Chuck shifts his weight restlessly between his legs.

Castiel turns toward you and Dean, shouting over the rumble. “It's the archangel! I'll hold him off! I'll hold them all off! Just stop Sam!”

You swerve around at the angel’s words. He isn’t planning on coming with you. The sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach claws out in rejection. You clench your fists and push the feeling back down. You know there is no alternative option.

Castiel lifts his arm and presses two fingers to Dean’s forehead. The hunter immediately vanishes. Just as the angel prepares to do the same to you, you catch him by the arm to stop him. You refuse to leave without a proper parting.

“Wait.” Before he can question you, you grab onto his face and lean in, pressing your lips against his. And that’s when you feel it: a buzzing charge that leaps from the contact. His mouth is unexpectedly sweet, and the feel of it seduces you. When you notice his rigidity, you pull back. Examining his frozen expression, you give out a broken laugh. “That’s a thank you. For choosing us. For choosing humanity.” Your face turns solemn, eyes darkening in their severity. “You come back in one piece, you understand?”

At your demand, the statue like angel is once again animated.

Just as you prepare for departure, Castiel suddenly grabs you around the waist. Startled, you glimpse the wild tempest in his eyes as you’re flung against him. He immediately snakes his other hand around your neck, crashing his mouth over yours. The kiss isn’t at all gentle like the one you offered. This is much more ardent, much more feverish. And the electric spark, now almost an explosion, surges through you, enticing you to press closer... deeper… chasing away all conscious thought.

Castiel moves his hand from your neck to your shoulder, and with a firm grip, he pulls away from you. You’re left breathless, flushed from the kiss and skin burning in the places he touched you. You hardly notice the prophet, who had been standing awkwardly in the background the whole time.

Although his blue eyes remain resolute, there is now a softened quality to them. “Alice.” He breathes out your name, sounding almost weak, and it sends gravity tumbling back. “Go.” He passes his hand over your forehead, and you could do nothing but accept his action.

Before you’re transported, you leave him with a steadfast gaze, pleading that he survives this.

 

You touch down to the frantic hollering of Dean. His cries echo down from the dreary, slate covered hallway. You find your balance and glance around to the direction of Dean’s voice. Your surroundings are dark. The only source of light is from the frosted windows placed evenly along the corridor. You catch the misty glow of the moon, splattering the blurry dark of your shadow onto the opposite wall.

“SAM!!”

You swerve towards the sound of Dean’s bellow and start running. The trotting of your footsteps clang against the stone walls, mixing with the reverberation of his voice. When you finally reach the hunter, he is slamming himself angrily at a wooden door. The bulk of the wood trembles with each additional collision.

“Dean!” you call out for his attention.

“Finally! What the hell took you so long?!” the man growls out breathlessly. “Help me break this fucking door down!”

You nod hastily. Pressing a hand on the grained surface, you chant out a spell. “ _Chiem._ ” The door makes a jolting sound, the edges of its frame spouting out puffs of dust.

Dean wastes no time and plows himself against the door once more. This time, the wooden barricade breaks open, revealing the calamity inside. No sooner is the entrance free does a sudden wave of power blow through you. You fling your gaze forward, capturing the scene in the room.

A boney woman dressed in a white gown lies dead under an altar, her blond curls spilling across her empty face. The body bleeds onto the stone floor. Near her immobile hand is a familiar glass jar, its contents slopping out and mixing together with the blood of the female corpse. You watch in horror as the crimson merges and pulls itself across the pavement.

“Sam!” Dean bellows out, pulling your attention. He charges towards his brother and the woman standing at his side. Raising his right arm, you see the demon blade clutched between his fingers. Before the woman can react, Sam grabs her firmly by the arms, trapping her as Dean rips the dagger into her. You stare wide-eyed as the two hunters mercilessly kill the demoness who they had been working with for so long. When the woman falls, the brothers regard each other with inexpressible looks of relief and regret.

Sam’s chest heaves. “…Dean, I’m sorry.” 

The blood swerves again, drawing the stroke further towards the center. Another eruption of energy bursts outward, snatching your gaze back to the impending disaster. This wave of power rips through you more intensely than the first.

_Crack._

Something triggers inside you. Buried in the far reaches of your psyche, you suddenly notice an immense wall stretching across your awareness. Having stayed completely oblivious to your consciousness until now, you realize it’s been holding something back. The barricade trembles, slowly breaking apart.

_Crack. Crack. Crack._

Your body seizes as the fissures on the wall widen, creating further rifts and chasms. And then you feel the final break. All at once, every nerve inside your mind is white hot agony. It’s as though your brain is splitting open. You scream.

The bloody strokes a few meters in front of you finally come to a stop, opening a gaping hole at the center. Blinding light ruptures forth from the abyss, gnawing and growing as it begins to swallow the entire room.

Lurching forward, you grab onto your head with both hands, nails digging into the sides of your skull. The pulsing ache in your brain resonates with the pure white energy exploding from the pit. You barely notice someone shouting your name. A forceful grip latches onto your arm, jerking you upwards.

“Alice!”

You’re spun around. Dean’s face is yelling angrily at your own while a panic-stricken Sam stands next to him.

“Lucifer’s coming out! We gotta get out of here!”

The final crack expands to the very edge of the wall, sending the entire mental fortress tumbling. Your skin begins to glow, and the brothers respond with looks of alarm. A vortex of energy spirals within you, sputtering as you try to suppress its colossal power. You push against the two brothers, praying they would get away. Sam and Dean are thrown back from the slightest movement of your hands, landing heavily against the doors.

“Go! Leave me! Get out of here!” you cry out, clutching your arms.

“Alic-!” The boys vanish.

Their strange disappearance baffles you, but the thundering phenomenon in your body prevents you from dwelling on the matter. Abruptly, you arch back, feeling the scorch shoot through you. Your head tosses back and you scream out towards the ceiling. Searing light bursts from your insides, rupturing through your pupils and expanding to the edges of your eyes until everything is swallowed in illumination.

 

~ _You can’t escape me, Lyss.~_

 

Enochian words wrapped in a deep and clamoring voice resound from the pillar of light. The pressure and might of his words strike through your corporeal body, stretching and tugging. As a last resort to defend against the entrapment, your writhing core bursts forth a wave of its own power, pushing back the ravenous miasma. 

 

“… _Alice..._

_…Soveminl…!”_

 

Everything turns black.

 

* * *

Hey, guys! Sorry for the horribly long wait! My move to Korea was a turbulent one. Training as a Chungdahm teacher was intense, and teaching has been great, but there's a crazy amount of prep! Still trying to find my teacher legs!

 **Please Read and Review:** Reviewers get to kiss Castiel goodbye!! But hopefully not...

 


	9. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The devil is unleashed and the end is near. Alice drifts into a state of subconsciousness, confronted by the spirit that now controls her body.  
> ~  
> Behind the dark strands, her eyes carry an abnormal glint. Other than the odd silence, she seems more or less unharmed.  
> Bobby shakes his head of the daze and steps forward. “How did ya get here? Where are the boys?”  
> “Stop!”  
> The girl’s voice freezes the man mid-motion. There’s a strange quality to her voice...  
> ~

Bobby Singer clutches his knees with trepidation as he watches his television screen. The scratched up old box has been tuned to nothing but the news channel for the past five hours. Bobby swallows a dry lump in his throat, scanning the rolling text under the anchorwoman. There is still no mention of unnatural occurrences. His eyes slide to the coffee table in front of him. Sitting silently atop the stained wooden surface is a small black cellphone. The middle-aged man licks his lips. Maybe the boys did it. Maybe they were able to stop this whole mess.

A loud boom thunders beneath his feet, sending violent shakes across the entire house. Bobby flings himself behind his battered sofa, crouching against the flooring and shielding his head. His eyes are clenched shut as he swears in his head, waiting for the end of the world.

But nothing comes.

Confused but wary, Bobby opens one eye to inspect his surroundings. The shaking has stopped, and other than a few fallen objects, everything remains the same. On the other side of the room, the television continues to sound with the reporter’s voice.

“The hell?” Bobby mutters under his breath. He slowly stands up. Glancing around his room, he searches for any sign of danger. After a few more seconds of tension, he finally takes in a proper breath. Now that he is sure his living room is secure, the man decides to examine the rest of his house. Quickly grabbing the shotgun leaning in the corner wall, he moves cautiously towards his kitchen. Save the stately voice buzzing from the television, all else is silent. After passing a few glances from his stove to the cupboards, he proceeds across the linoleum tiles to the rest of his house.

Brandishing the firearm, Bobby points the barrel of his gun into each room before entering, and every time, he finds nothing. Bobby scratches his head, standing in the middle of his hallway. A puzzled look stretches over his face. And then he remembers. The explosion sounded strongest beneath his feet.

He races down the stairs towards the basement, stopping just before he reaches he entrance. Staring at the door to the cellar, the old hunter swallows in preparation. Gradually turning the knob, he pulls back the door. Bobby strains his ears, focusing on the slightest noises that may sound. Nothing again. He lowers down to the first step, then the next, still gripping onto his shotgun. As the descent continues, his index finger twitches over the trigger. When both feet reach the bottom, Bobby hovers the barrel across the musty surroundings. Even with the violent quake occurring just moments ago, the basement seems untouched. The man straightens, lowering his tense shoulders. Feeling a lot more at ease, his hold on the gun slacks and he moves towards the vault. After all, the panic room is the safest place for miles, probably even one of the safest places in the country. He passes the firearm to his left hand and unlocks the hulk of the metal door with his right. The door swings open with a grating screech. Bobby’s eyes grow into saucers.

“Alice?!”

Sitting in the middle of the metal room is the 25-year-old girl. Her frame is small and rigid as she rests upon the iron floor. Her unruly black hair sprawls across her face, hiding her expression. Behind the dark strands, her eyes carry an abnormal glint. Other than the odd silence, she seems more or less unharmed.

Bobby shakes his head of the daze and steps forward. “How did ya get here? Where are the boys?”

“Stop!”

The girl’s voice freezes the man mid-motion.

Bobby examines her again. There’s a strange quality to her voice, and were her eyes always that color? “What’s wrong?”

“The brothers are safe. You must not come in. Not yet. Leave me in here. I am recuperating.”

Something is definitely off. Alice didn’t talk like that. There’s a mental struggle inside Bobby. Maybe the poor girl saw something she didn’t like. This is a panic room after all. Yet, unease refuses to release its grip. And what the hell was that explosion? Bobby studies the young female.

She’s sitting inside the room, so she must not be possessed. But how the hell did she end up in here?

Alice stares back, unblinking.

“Bobby, please.”

Sighing, Bobby nods his head. “All right, all right. But if you need anything, anything at all, you give me a holler. I believe you when you said Sam and Dean are safe, but you gotta give me a better explanation after.”

Alice dips her head in affirmation.

Reluctantly, Bobby pulls back from the entrance. He eyes the door then back to the girl. Alice nods, and he sighs again. Pulling at the iron handle, he swings the gate back to cover the entrance. There is a clanging of metal on metal when the door closes, sealing the girl inside.  

 

~With You~

 

_…Soveminl…_

 

Disjointed thoughts bubble within your consciousness, nudging you to wake. You open your eyes and all you see is black. Yet, there is a quiescent like absence to the surroundings.

You blink. Are you dreaming?

All at once, pictures, voices, feelings materialize across the dark space, filling your vision with sporadic movements of color and scenes twisting and mixing into one another. You realize they are memories… but they don’t belong to you, they don’t belong to _Alice_. These recollections _you_ didn’t know, recollections _you_ ’ve never had flood the forefront of your mind, wholly conquering its entirety. You see yourself, through the spiral of continuous scenes, reeling like a fast-forwarded movie. But you aren’t _you_. In these images, you are someone else, and not just some _one.._.

You gasp as you’re submerged in another flash of birth, existence, and death. Each series of moving pictures foretell the life of a different person.

_Soveminl…!_

 

You fall further down through the spiral of scenes and images, reliving the lives of each person at warped speed.

_SOVEMINL!!!!_

 

The whirlwind of scenes comes to a screeching halt, and at the center, you feel it. Floating down towards you is the oldest memory; the first memory; the first life. The resonance emanating from this recollection lulls you into a trance. Through the muddy whirlpool that is this ancient memory, something begins to emerge at the center.

Stepping through the blur of colors is a woman of glowing and unearthly features. The contrast of her acute clarity is stark against the hazy memory that was her world. She opens her eyes, a pair of piercing amber. Her hair falls around her in wisp like tresses, colored silver so unblemished it almost appears white. Whatever this woman is, it isn’t human.

You gaze on in awe. Bathed in a staggering familiarity, you yearn to approach. 

_“Stop, Alice.”_

Her bell like voice commands you, and you immediately obey.

“I know you.” You want to say. But instead of a voice, the words echo disjointedly around you.

The transient female gently dips her chin.

_“Yes. You do. But do not come closer. You’re not yet ready.”_

Your confusion distorts the atmosphere. “Why?”

She smiles sadly.

You gaze wonderingly at her, wanting so badly to move closer. “I know you, but I can’t remember who you are…”

She closes her eyes and lifts her head. Tendrils of energy flex from her figure, radiating at even the tiniest movement.

_“My name is Lyss. And we are one and the same.”_

A spark of comprehension shoots through you, coupled with the onslaught of insight. This woman was you, the first you, the first incarnation. All the recollections whirl down towards you. The different lives you seen, the births and the deaths you’ve experienced; they are all you, _were_ all you. This is what’s been missing, the part of you you couldn’t find, the frustratingly intangible pull deep beneath your skin. Your heart throbs from the revelation. At last… at long last you know… you understand.

You let out a sobbing cry.  

Trapped in this cycle, you have been born again and again, bound with the mark but never remembering your origin until now. After a hundred lifetimes, the sealing of your memories has finally come apart, breaking you from the cycle.

There is a flash of light and the memories disappear, amply absorbed back into your consciousness. Integrated and intact, you feel more complete than you’ve ever had.

At last, you are free. You are a true immortal. 

* * *

 

**Wow, that only took 3 months to upload. Sorry guys, between teaching intensive classes for a month and partying myself silly, really didn't allot much time to writing. Will try to remedy that soon.**

**Please Read and Review!**


	10. The Time Before

Once upon a time, long ago, there lived a budding civilization of humans. Having taken millions of years to evolve into functioning and thinking creatures, this species still had a long way to go before they were able to reach the thriving and audacious beings they have become today. They were still fragile, still ignorant, still terrified.

However, there were a certain few, a gifted few, who existed apart from humanity’s first bumbling mass of insecurity. These few, though alike in human appearance, were so intrinsically different.

Born from the very Earth itself, and mothered by nature, they developed a natural affinity with what the humans grew to call the magical arts. These gifted beings were able to harness the power and the energies of the planet and bend them to their will. They knew all the secrets of life and the mysteries of death. They could communicate with the spirits of past and future at leisure. So long did stretch their lives and youth, and as vast was their age, so was their benevolence. While these beings lived nursed and coddled by the opulent nature the humans would fear, they began to sympathize with the pitiful creatures.

Leaving the safety of their haven, the ethereal beings revealed their immaculate selves to the humans, offering many gifts. They taught the humans ways to thrive in their environment, knowledge of medicine and science, wisdom of life and the exoneration of death. They were teachers, mediators, and bridges between the mortal world and realms of the next. They spoke with angels and soothed the creatures who crept in the night. Witnessing their awe-inspiring powers, the humans bestowed the beings with the title _Wikkōn_ , beings of sacred and obscure origin. The _Wikkōn_ were so loved, so worshipped, and while they lived among the humans, they were happy, humanity was happy… for the moment.

It was not long before the _Wikkōn_ grasped the frightful speed at which humans learned, and not a few hundred years later, they realized humanity was no longer the feeble lambs they had first encountered. Flourishing with the knowledge given to them, the human population grew exponentially, traversing further across the planet, expanding their territories. Yet, even as their capabilities grew, the human consciousness was still so small. Miniscule disagreements grew to larger arguments. Ideals and emotions clashed. Soon after, violence and discontent wrought forth the impending spread of war.

The _Wikkōn_ tried to intervene, they tried to reason, but they were shunned at every turn. This was a human matter, the mortals said, the beings had no right to interfere. And so they obeyed. Recognizing that their roles as leaders were over, they quietly retreated back to their secluded domain, keeping their influences from the human affairs. Nonetheless, there were still humans who relied on and believed in the wisdom of the _Wikkōn_. For the willing few that readily sought help, they were glad to give it. As the years rolled on, the willing seekers came less and less, until the existence of the beings were but a rumor through the grapevines.

Then, Lucifer smiled. Having watched the humans with festering envy as they prospered under the protection of the _Wikkōn_ , he finally saw his chance to sow the seeds of calamity. Adopting the shape of a Wiseman, he once again revealed the existence of the _Wikkōn_ to the masses. He told the humans of their incredible powers, of how they could destroy all that humans have built in an instant should they desire, and that while the _Wikkōn_ lived pampered by their intellect and wealth, there were so many humans who lived in poverty and disease. And the humans listened, so easily were their beliefs swayed. Riled with greed, envy, and contempt, they raised arms to invade the homes of the _Wikkōn._

As beings of peace, violence and cruelty were not familiar subjects for the _Wikkōn_. But oh, did they learn. Wrenched from their homes, the _Wikkōn_ pleaded and begged. They wished no harm on the humans, and they would be glad to share all that they knew with them. But these words would fall on deaf ears for the human hearts were already so twisted with dark desires. Overtime, the _Wikkōn_ title was abandoned and lost. To the humans, they were now _Witches_ , creatures of morbid and perverse abilities. They were burned, tortured, massacred. In order to escape a similar fate, the _Wikkōn_ who still retained their clarity fled to the realm of _Fata_ , the world of faeries. One by one they escaped until a sole _Wikkōn_ stayed: a young immortal by the name of Lyss, who continued her efforts to placate humanity.

So the hunt for the _Witches_ continued, and the age of humanity took a dark turn. After years of sadistic brutality, a stirring darkness grew within the hearts of certain _Wikkōn_ , changing them, tainting them. Pained and ravaged by humanity’s betrayal, they decided to welcome the new title. If morbid depravity was what the humans expected, then so shall they receive. Swallowed in malevolence, the dark _Wikkōn_ unleashed their vengeance on the masses, decimating their population. Disease, drought, famine, and death. The humans writhed in fear and torment. It was the end, they believed, for they have provoked an enemy far beyond their might.

Lucifer sat back and watched with reverie at his handiwork. The humans were in disarray and the _Wikkōn_ had lost their trust in humanity. Without their protection, ending the feeble species would only be a matter of time. Or so the devil had thought.

Horrified by what the _Wikkōn_ have become, Lyss interceded. Vowing to protect her world and all that lived in it, she beseeched her brethren to return to her aid. Together with the few _Wikkōn_ who gathered, they climbed to the very first mountain of fire and swore their oaths. Using the blade forged by Heaven’s fire, each of the _Wikkōn_ carved a symbol of their fealty into their soul, taking up the mantel of being Earth’s protectors. Resolute in their task, these new guardians flew into battle, obstructing the tainted beings from their chaotic path. The battle of Immortals lasted a full turn of the moon, and after much heartbreak and toil, the _Wikkōn_ were able to vanquish their darker half. But, despite all their efforts, the damage was done. Humans had coveted and learned the anguished powers of the dark _Wikkōn_ , and set to use them for their own purposes.

The brothers of Lucifer, the archangels, had discovered his plan and watched as he wreaked havoc on Earth. No longer able to sit idly by as he destroyed their _Father’s_ beloved creations, they set forth to put an end to Lucifer’s misdeeds. With the acquiescence of their _Father_ , the archangel Michael descended from Heaven to engage his younger brother in combat. The angels called upon young Lyss, to lend her powers when the clash would commence.

Mindful of his brother’s intent, Lucifer breathed life to a creation of his own as a means of insurance. Lilith, he called her, his first child. Imbuing the creature of darkness with her first mission, he set off to meet Michael. As the two angels stood against one another at the precipice of what was once Eden’s Valley, Lyss raised the planet’s forces from its soil and erected a barrier around the valley. When the combat between Michael and Lucifer broke out, it took all of what she and the other angels had just to keep the hailstorm of their powers contained. Earth and its inhabitants have suffered enough. After a fortnight, Lucifer was finally struck down. The angels lowered their barrier, and the young protector prepared the final incantation. With her gifts, she opened a void to a realm of nothing, positing the abyss as what will be the devil’s prison. With a final blast, Lucifer was hurled into his cage. At the moment of his passage, he sent Lyss a parting gift. In the oversight of lowered defenses, Lucifer hurled a corrosive attack with malignant vivacity. The assault landed, and immortal as Lyss was, the attack from Lucifer was cursed, and it began to erode her physical body. Knowing her soul was bound to Earth through her vows, she requested the angels prepare and protect her coming incarnation. She would send her soul into the empty body of a growing human fetus until she became strong enough to shoulder the burden of being a protector once more. But this plan would never come to fruition.

On a starry night, when the moon was full, a young mother was humming softly to her growing belly. She was the one, the angels had decided, who would bring Lyss back into the mortal world. Yet, on that same night, humanity would experience its very first demonic possession, an experience so vile and unfathomable even the angels had no way of preventing what was to come. In the hours of twilight, Lilith forced her way into the body of a recent grieving mother. In her sorrow, her heart was ripe with openings and was easily swayed by Lilith’s dark whispers. With a firm grip over the human body, the demoness stole into the house of the soon to be mother. Standing over the bed of the sleeping woman, Lilith could feel the budding _Wikkōn_ growing within her. Raising her dagger up high, she plunged the savage blade into the belly. As the woman screamed in her tortuous wake, Lilith reached into her womb and wrenched out the still forming child. With an elated cry of dark satisfaction, the demoness wrung the life from its fragile form and uttered a final curse towards the Heavens. When the angels finally broke through the celestial warding, they struck Lilith with petrifying retribution, rendering the body to ashes. But the slippery demoness had already fled. The angels looked on at the scene before them, weighed down by their failure and the loss of an innocent. The chosen mother had already breathed her last, her life spilling out of her center and painting the sheets of her bed with crimson. Lying not far away from her was the writhing grotesque figure of what would be a human child. The pitiful creature wheezed out its looming end in small startling gasps. Lyss soul, however feeble, latched onto life. And with one final burst of power, she casted a spell of her own, sending the wave of energy to the closest angel.

Then, all was silent. Lyss was gone, no trace of her soul could be found. The angels searched and searched. The other _Wikkōn_ searched and searched. None could find her.

And the young _Wikkōn_ , her soul cursed and bound, was lost among the sea of mortals. With no memories of what she was or what she had to do, she was born again and again, living and dying as a human.

Until six thousand years later, the lost soul settled into the body of a fatally sick infant.

 

…

 

With no choices left, a drug-abusing young girl of 17 carried a crying bundle in her arms. She paced through the streets at night in the midst of winter. Reaching the closest nursery, she laid her dying child on the doorstep. As she knocked on the door, she bent down to kiss her forlorn baby one last time. When the lights within the nursery turned on, she quickly tightened the wrapping on her baby’s blanket, the blanket sewed with the name Alice, and disappeared back into the streets. 

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	11. To Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~  
> The Alice look-alike examines the angel with a sympathetic look on her face. “You don’t remember, do you?”  
> “What don’t I remember?” He grits his teeth from the pain. “Where’s Alice?”  
> The girl steps down from her cradle and walks towards Castiel with a raised hand. The angel takes a step back, unsure of her actions.  
> “I’m sorry.” She offers him an apologetic look.  
> ~

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* * *

 

It’s like being in limbo, Castiel thinks.

…

When the angel had stood next to the prophet, determined in his decision to hold back the archangels, he was willing to offer his life for the cause without remorse. Or least, he did. As Raphael and his squadron of angels tore down towards him, Castiel felt a moment of weakness, a moment of regret. When the archangel arrived, Castiel had gripped onto his blade, staring brazenly into the eyes of his executioner. Had the spark of distress not been ignited by the words and actions of a single immortal girl, the rebel angel would have been content. But now, even as he tried fruitlessly to fight against his clearly stronger opponent, even as his existence began to burn away, Castiel could not help but hear the echo of the immortal’s words, pleading that he return to her alive. And in the moment before obliteration, he wished that he could.

…

Then an oddity happened. The edges of Castiel’s consciousness was pooling back. No longer did he feel suspended in nothingness. He could _think_ and _sense_ things again. Smells, noises, and the air. He opened his eyes.

…

Castiel looks around his surroundings, having found himself lying in the middle of a field miles away from anywhere. He tries to recall the events that transpired after his annihilation, attempting to find the link that may have led him here. He furrows his brow in confusion. Raphael had most definitely destroyed him. He remembers the sensation of burning from the inside and the acute ripping of detonation. Jimmy Novak, the original host of his body was screaming out in agony. Castiel’s thoughts halt.

Jimmy.

His frown deepens as he scours his mind for the host’s soul.

…Nothing.

The angel sighs in realization. Jimmy is gone. Of course, he is. Raphael had disintegrated the body. Any chance of the devoted salesman reuniting with his family on Earth is now nil, and Castiel knows the blame falls on him alone. The edges of his lips twitch downward. Closing his eyes, he shakes himself of the damning thoughts. Whatever the consequence, he’ll pay. There are more important matters to attend to. Foremost, how is he alive? It shouldn’t have been possible to escape Raphael, let alone being completely unscathed as he is.

And then it hit him. Castiel looks towards the sky, awash with reverie.

It was God who had brought him back. His father had not abandoned him. His decision to fight with the Winchesters must have been the righteous choice.

With renewed purpose, Castiel closes his eyes in a silent prayer of sincere gratitude. Taking in a deep breath, he casts his gaze once more across the barren field before turning in the direction of the convent. First thing’s first. He must find Alice and the Winchesters.

Touching down at the hollow halls of the abandoned monastery, Castiel quickly strides to the room oozing with tumultuous energy. Standing at the entrance’s edge, he scans the aftermath in the chamber. Near the base of a crumbling altar is the charred remains of what used to be human. The angel narrows his eyes at the form, drawing in the leftover residue of the creature’s essence. He surmises the ashes must have been Lilith’s host. His eyes then carry to the dark smudging trail drawing a spiral towards the center on the stone floor. Castiel’s jaw tightens, his throat feeling immensely dry. He can almost taste it. Alice’s vibrant energy mixing with the excess of the ominous symbol. But what concerns him more is the gnawing darkness that hangs in the air, a festering void so ravenous it can only be from one creature.

Castiel turns his head towards the east, flinging his awareness outwards in search of the two hunters’ location. Latching onto their energies, he propels himself in their direction. Speeding across the landscape, he catches wind of Zachariah’s presence, his previous superior, and a few of his subordinates.

Previous superior, Castiel muses. The thought seems oddly freeing.

The angel plunges right into the middle of the fray, positing himself between the Winchester brothers and the opposing angels. Taking out his blade, Castiel wastes no time in eliminating his enemies. Despite being angels, despite being supposedly brothers, these beings are standing against the will of God, and he feels it is now his duty to right this wrong. Sliding the edge of his blade out of his opponent’s heart, Castiel turns his attention to the final adversary in the room.

Zachariah regards him with stark disbelief. His expression is mimicked on the faces of the two hunters, albeit mixed with the pain of torture.

The older angel leans back from the younger rebel. “How are you-”

“Alive?” Castiel finishes dryly. “Good question.” He gestures towards the two hunters lying ragged on the floor. “How did these two end up on that airplane? Another good question. Because the angels didn’t do it.” He narrows his eyes. “I think we both know the answer, don’t we?”

Zachariah’s eyes widen, his gaze trailing to the floor in denial. “No…. That’s not possible.”

Castiel exhales, burning with righteous fury. “It scares you. Well, it should. Now put these boys back together and go. I won’t ask twice.”

The balding man stares at his former subordinate warily, then retreats with a flutter of wings.

Sam and Dean fumble on the floor, the previous stabbing pain within their bodies gone without a trace. They quickly stand up, still trying to process the last few moments.

Castiel takes a step forward. “You should be more careful.”

Dean shifts his weight to his other leg, shaking himself of the torture he just experienced. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that. Your frat brothers are bigger dicks that I thought.”

“I don’t mean the angels. Lucifer is circling his vessel, and once he takes it those hex bags won’t be enough to protect you.” Taking another step, Castiel places his hands onto the chests of both men. He pushes a surge of energy through his palms, and the two hunters lurch when the power hits them.

Dean groans, holding onto the place where Castiel burned him. “What the hell was that?”

“An Enochian sigil. It’ll hide you from every angel in creation, including Lucifer.”

“What, you just brand us with it?”

“No, I carved it into your ribs.”

There is a look of discomfort on the brothers’ faces, but they accept the gesture regardless.

“Hey, Cass,” Sam starts. “Were you really dead?”

“Yes.”

The two men regard the angel once more, studying his form.

It dawns on Dean that he had demanded Castiel help them at the cost of his life. The cost by which the angel paid so quickly and readily, and Dean didn’t even realize it. He decides to focus his thoughts on something less guilt-ridden. “Then, how are you back?”

At the hunter’s words, Castiel begins to feel a grain of doubt. Only moments ago, he was so sure of his new found purpose. But what if there is a chance that he’s wrong? Once, he had believed so fervently in the divine guidance of his superiors as well. Is he fated to repeat this? Had it not been Dean and Alice who first helped incite the uncertainty in him?

Alice.

He looks away from the Winchesters. He needs to see her now. Without bothering to answer Dean’s question, the angel leaves.

By the time Castiel is in the air, the two brothers are already forgotten. He searches the Earth for her presence, and a signal immediately beams in his awareness, a beacon blaring out her location. The angel draws his lips into a thin line. He must remove the mark Uriel burned into her. There’s no way of knowing what new plans the other angels may have for her. Closing in on Alice’s energy signature, he realizes it’s coming from Bobby Singer’s house. Castiel dives into the humble abode and lands outside the entrance to the vault. He stares quizzically at the iron door. He can feel Alice’s presence, but there’s something odd about it. The energy radiating from her soul, it’s different somehow. Castiel steels himself. He wanted to see the girl, and now he’s here. Whatever injury she may have suffered he’ll heal it. Placing his hand on the metal handle, the angel pulls the door back. He stands frozen at the sight in front of him.

Instead of the usual rusting dark metal and the rhythmic whipping of the fan above, the vault is now teeming with green and plant life. Crawling across the circular walls are violets and reds of honeysuckle and clematis. What was originally the dusty flooring is now covered with bellowing soft moss, erected with patches of lush grass and bunches of chrysanthemums hugging the vault’s waist. If Castiel had not seen the previous state of the iron chamber, he would have thought Bobby had been keeping a secret garden in his basement. The angel’s eyes finally rest on the figure enfolded in the branches of a small twisting willow which arches towards the ceiling from the center of the room. Despite the green vines spilling like a curtain over her form, he can still make out glimpses of her appearance. In place of the usual cropped black hair pushed back in a wild and impromptu manner, extensive straight silver locks flow down across the mossy ground. Her skin, though shadowed before the foliage now carries a translucent glow. Only her jeans and jacket remain the same.

All around the girl, the air dances, humming with vitality.

Castiel angles his head, trying to get a better look. “Alice?”

The figure within the tree stirs. Two shining pools of gold appear from beneath her eyelids.

“Castiel…”

The angel is silent. Although he recognizes it to be Alice’s energy, Alice’s scent, and Alice’s voice, there is something changed about every one of those aspects. “Who are you?”

With a gentle movement of the girl’s wrist, the curtain of vines pulls back, revealing the full of her form. It is an exact reflection of Alice, but with a few unearthly changes.  

Castiel stands rooted to the ground. His head pounds, beating within the walls of his mind is something screaming at him to remember. He is stricken by the sense of nostalgia and pained by his inability to recall the reason why.

The Alice look-alike examines the angel with a sympathetic look on her face. “You don’t remember, do you?”

The ring of her voice only amplifies the thundering in his head. “What don’t I remember?” He grits his teeth from the pain. “Where’s Alice?”

The girl steps down from her cradle and walks towards Castiel with a raised hand. The angel takes a step back, unsure of her actions.

“I’m sorry.” She offers him an apologetic look. “The call in your head. It must be painful. I can take it away, if you’d like.”

Castiel stares at her with a grimace. “Alice.” The girl still hasn’t told him what he wants to know.

The girl nods, ceding. “Alice is asleep. I am Lyss, a previous incarnation of her, the first incarnation. I exist within the deepest reaches of her memories, awoken when Lucifer broke from his cage. He had tried to trap us. If Alice did not invoke her memories of me as she did, our situation may not be as fortunate.”  Lyss reaches out her hand again. “If you would let me touch you, I can take away the call.”

Weighed by the clamoring in his brain, Castiel decides to accept the girl’s proposition.

Lyss touches her hand to the angel’s face, and he immediately jolts from the contact. Unlike the hair-raising tingle of Alice’s touches, this one reminds him of being burned by hot iron. But the feeling does not stay. As her fingers linger, he could sense the pounding begin to ebb away, drained in the direction of Lyss’s hand. After a few moments, his mind becomes completely at ease, even the stinging burn of her skin is gone, replaced with the warm softness of a girl’s caress. Lyss pulls back her hand. “How do you feel?”

Castiel blinks, gazing down at her. “It’s gone. What did you do?”

Satisfied, Lyss retreats from him. Sighing, she steps back towards the willow. The branches reach out and bow, curving into a comfortable seat as she lowers herself onto them. Lyss keeps her gaze on the ground. “You don’t remember this, but you were one of the angels sent to protect me. After the battle between Michael and Lucifer, I created the abyss that would seal Lucifer-”

“You were the one who made his cage?” Castiel cuts in incredulously. His face then morphs with suspicion. “What exactly are you? I had previously thought you were a human turned immortal, but this doesn’t seem to be the case.”

Unfazed by the interruption, Lyss nods. “The origin of our existence is unclear even to our own kind. All we know is that we were created from the planet’s ether, and the humans came to call us _Wikkōn_. Unknowingly, we were the ones who led them into learning what they believe as magic. Witches, is the term, I believe.” The girl lets out a grieved sigh before resuming. “It was a request of Michael’s. He couldn’t bear to kill his own brother, despite all that he’s done. And I agreed.” She waits for him to accept her explanation. When Castiel is silent, she continues. “Before the void closed, Lucifer cursed me. He destroyed my physical body, but because I had imbued myself with the mark made by Heaven’s Sword, my soul was bound to Earth. I couldn’t experience the same passing as the other beings.” Lyss takes a momentary pause, allowing Castiel to drink in her words.

“You’re talking about the Mark of Ëae. The sword was soon destroyed, wasn’t it?”

Lyss nods again. “It was created so we could carry out the ritual of becoming guardians. So once our oaths were made, the sword had accomplished its purpose, and it was melted away.”

The angel tips his head, awaiting the rest of her story.

“The angels helped prepare the vessel that I would be born to next, but before I was fully developed, Lilith killed the birth mother. She then placed a curse on my soul, sealing away my powers and memories so that I would be lost among the mortals.” She passes an almost coy glance at the angel. “And that’s where you come in.”

Castiel knits his brows, prompting her to elaborate.

“You and another angel arrived just as Lilith finished her curse. You destroyed her host, but she was able to escape before then. As a last resort to counteract what she had done to me, I sent a piece of myself, a piece of my soul to the closest living being I could find.” Lyss studies the angel’s expression. “Which was you.”

Castiel lifts his head, the memories of when he first met Alice, the clamoring that thundered in his head, and the constant aching familiarity that pestered him to no end, all of these recollections come flooding back, settling in neat junctions like puzzle pieces through the directions of Lyss’s recount.

Lyss bows her head. “I did not mean to burden you with a piece of my soul all this time. I had hoped that with it, you would be able to locate me. The fragments of my soul would always call to each other, and when I become whole again, Lilith’s seal would break and I would have retained all my powers and memories,” Lyss trails off, casting her eyes to the ground again. “But in the end, your memories were taken away. …Though I’m sure your superiors had a valid reason….”

Castiel’s jaw turns rigid.

“I am instead woken by Lucifer, himself, and it will take still much longer before Alice is ready to accept my powers and consciousness.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lyss is taken aback. “Why are you apologizing?”

The creases between his brows deepen. “It’s as you said. If I was charged with your protection, then I failed. I should have prevented Lilith from killing your vessel’s mother, even more, I should have prevented her from placing that curse on you.”

The silver haired girl shakes her head. “The blame does not lie with you. If I had been more careful of Lucifer’s tactics, none of this would have happened. No one knew he was capable of creating demons. Lilith was the first of her kind, a creature not I or the angels have ever encountered before. And now, because of my naïve hope that Lucifer and Michael would one day reconcile, Lucifer has broken free of the abyss and still intends to finish what he started on Earth.”

Castiel considers everything he’s learned for a moment. “But, if you’re here now. Can’t you create another cage for Lucifer?”

Lyss raises a hand to the passing light beating against the turbine and examines it. “If it was six thousand years ago, and I still had my original body, yes. Right now, my existence is but a memory fragment buried within Alice’s mind. I am merely a small part of her, and though I am the one with the knowledge of our powers, she is the only one who can harness them to their full extent, which she’ll need to if she wants to reseal Lucifer again.”

Castiel takes in an uneven breath, feeling powerless. “So, what happens to her now?”

Lyss settles her hand back onto her lap. “I’m glad you asked that. The next few weeks will be difficult for her. From the moment she wakes, she will struggle to live with her new abilities. Our powers are directly connected to our emotions and mental state, so in times of stress, Alice must learn to calm her mind. Eventually she will grow to control them, and when that time comes, I will be properly absorbed into her subconscious. But until then, could I ask you to protect her?”

The angel’s gaze hardens. “Of course.”

A look of relief melts the previous tension on her face. “And one more thing. You needn’t worry about the emotions you’ve developed for Alice. They should be gone now that I have taken back that piece of my soul.”

Castiel stills, his insides turning to ice. “What?”

Lyss seems bemused. “You didn’t realize? I felt it when I touched you. The intimacy you’ve shared; the attachment you’ve been feeling for her. It’s because the soul fragments have been calling to each other. Now that I am whole again, these sensations will no longer affect you.” The girl smiles. “If you hadn’t noticed, then it’s all for the better. Forget I said anything.”

Castiel straightens, the former tension leaving his shoulders. He might actually be relieved. He never did like the crawling sense of apprehension that came coupled with his… _desires_. This would make things simpler. The angel then notices the look of distraction on Lyss’s face.

“Something wrong?”

“No. Alice is waking up, which means it’s now my time to sleep. I will surface if circumstances become dire.” She stands up, and the willow branches begin to withdraw to their original position. “I leave her to you, Castiel.”

The angel watches engrossed as Lyss closes her eyes, retreating back to the body’s subconscious. The silver tint of her hair draws back, pulling with it the color of Alice’s original jet black. The ethereal glow that painted her skin dims to the normal peach tone. The air buzzes with the transformation, atoms dancing sporadically in the air. The girl takes in a deep breath as she stands almost rigidly upright in the middle of the vault. When she begins to open her eyes again, her pupils no longer gleam with gold. They are once again deep pools of rich auburn.

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	12. To Bite Off More Than You Can Chew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~  
> There’s a thump from the front door, and the entrance door swings open.  
> Dean and Sam have their weapons ready in split second, the barrels pointed towards a hooded intruder.  
> “Don’t move!” Dean shouts out.  
> The intruder gives out a startled scream, immediately followed by the sound of very beer bottle shattering in the six pack she’s holding.  
> ~

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* * *

You begin to stir. Feeling as if you’ve been buried deep underground, you are lulled by the impression of resurfacing after a long absence. The sensations around you become clearer and distinct. Your eyelids flutter, and you grow increasingly aware of your own breathing. You open your eyes. As your pupils drink in the light, you cringe, immediately losing balance. You take a wobbly step back, and something catches you, calling your name. But your senses are blasted to the brim with things competing for your attention. Sounds, colors, touch and smell, everything is too loud, too bright, too chaotic. You bring your hands to cover your ears, clamping your eyes shut.

Stop.

Stop!

STOP!

You feel a gripping hand, steadying you. Through the jumble of shouting noises, you know you find the touch familiar, and you force yourself to focus on it. Your efforts seem effective as the noises and sharpness start to recede. The glare outside your lids begin to weaken as well. You calm your squirming and decide to take another chance with your vision. Slowly opening your eyes, you draw in your surroundings little by little. The swarm of fierce colors fade into sharper and more recognizable objects. The roaring in your ears quiet down to a hum. You lower your hands. Feeling something warm and sturdy supporting you, you rest your hands on it.

“Alice. Are you all right?”

The voice is clear now, and all too memorable. You bring your gaze towards the alluring sound, and the fuzzy profile settles back into focus. Castiel’s close proximity is startling, but what shocks you even more is what your eyes can now perceive.

His face and body are the same, fierce and robust and with a strange tinge of vulnerability. But that isn’t what holds your attention. It’s what’s past the flesh, beneath the skin that instills you wonder. White light, burning in all its brilliance, like the sun, but contained inside this one body. Warm and radiant, like it might illuminate any space endlessly should the light be released. You finally understand his use of the term _vessel._ This is what an angel is… this is what _Castiel_ is…

Moments you spent with him fly into memory: the wariness of your first encounter, the growing curiosity of this singular being, and the kindling friendship…then the betrayal, his redemption, and ultimately, his act of sacrifice.

“Castiel…” you say breathlessly.

Emotion overcomes you and you throw your arms around him. The previous events leading up to Lucifer’s escape run clear in your mind. You really hadn’t been sure if Castiel would be able to make it out alive against the archangel. “Thank God you’re all right,” you utter into his shoulder.

 

_~… Castiel immediately snakes his other hand around your neck, crashing his mouth over yours. The kiss isn’t at all gentle like the one you offered…~_

 

You jolt from the memory, pulling back. You’re startled by it, stunned at your own actions. Even the heat currently beginning its crawl across your cheeks seems to alarm you.

Your mind is awhirl. You’ve never felt such fluctuations in your emotions before and you don’t quite know how to react. It’s all you can do to reign back your words and lock every muscle in your body.

Castiel watches you questioningly, and you quickly hide your eyes, directing your attention downwards. It’s only then that you take notice of the absurdly long black locks falling past your vision. Your eyes widen in amazement. Grabbing at the tresses, you pull to make sure they’re really yours. Your wild gaze then travels around the room, finally made aware of the flowering greenery.

“What happened? Where am I?”

Castiel takes a hold on your shoulder, beckoning you to meet his eyes. “Alice, calm down. We’re in Bobby’s basement, specifically his panic room. You’re safe, and so is Sam and Dean-”

At the mention of their names, you’re about to fly into another frenzy of questions, but the angel silences you with a look.

“Your appearance and the plant life are a side effect of the transformation you’re going through. Your alternate personality, Lyss, and I conversed. I will tell you all that she explained to me. But I need you to keep your emotions in check.”

You stare at the angel, finding his words utterly confusing.

_Lyss…_

The mention of her name jogs your jumbled psyche. You only now remember the strange encounter. Did she not appear in your own mind?

A part of you still believes her to be a figment of your imagination. … And yet, Castiel tells you that he has _conversed_ with her? Too many questions race through your head and the angel’s calm disposition only unnerves you further. You’re not used to being the one left in the dark. Knowledge has always been both a weapon and a shield to you, and your current lack of awareness makes you feel as though you’re standing defenseless among unknown dangers. As much as you want Castiel to divulge all the necessary information you need to protect yourself, other anxieties override the initial urge. “Where are Sam and Dean?”

Almost like a trigger, your senses seem to expand through the surroundings the moment you asked the question. Every movement, grain of dust, and flicker of life seem to ignite into your awareness. You can feel the different energies of various creatures residing within the house: mice, insects, birds, even the raccoon scavenging by the porch. If you weren’t so concerned about the whereabouts of your friends, you’d be marveling at this new sight _._ Castiel had mentioned _transformation._ You wonder just how you’re changing, or _what_ you’ll even transform into. You never would’ve imagined you’d receive such jarring new abilities. Though you now have blurry recollections of a crucial past incarnation, you have no idea of the impact she’s caused or will cause in your life, physical or otherwise. You file away this concern for a later date.

You look up and search the floors above for the recognizable presence of the older hunter. “Bobby...” you say, “I don’t see him here.”

“Sam and Dean should be with Bobby right now. The last time I visited them, they were safe. I’ve hidden them from all angels, myself included, so I cannot gauge their immediate location right now.”

Something strange catches your attention, and you land your eyes upon the angel again, examining him. “…You’re different.”

Castiel angles his head a degree. “What do you mean?”

You scrutinize him. “Something’s missing…. You’re more… singular now.”

His gaze darkens and he looks away, taking his hand with him. “Yes. I am no longer sharing a body with Jimmy. This form now belongs solely to me.”

You’re not sure you understand. “Why? What happened to him?”

There’s a guilty discomfort on his face and he swallows. “He passed on when Raphael destroyed our body.”

Alarm shoots through you. “What?”

His eyes slide to you, searching for any signs of fatigue or physical imbalance. His arms rest at attention. “Maybe you should sit down.”

His worry is disconcerting. “I’m fine. Tell me what happened.”

Castiel exhales through his nose. “After you left, I fought against him. I lost, and he incinerated me.”

You wince at the word. “But you’re back now.”

“Yes.”

You study every inch of his face, trying to reaffirm his existence. “…How?”

Castiel is silent for a moment, casting you an expectant look. “I believe it was God.”

Your eyes widen. The idea of God is still surreal to you, but what other explanation is there? Your gaze trails absentmindedly to the walls. “So… he must be aware of the situation to some degree at least….”

Castiel visibly relaxes, for what reason you don’t know, but you don’t press. You’re simply grateful that he’s here with you now. Alive. You let out an unsteady breath before moving on to the next worrying subject.

“All right. So, your talk with Lyss.”

Castiel watches you, deliberating. “Before I start, how much of her existence do you know?”

You rub the back of your neck, trying to recall your first meeting with the girl during your state of semi-consciousness. “After I blacked out, Lyss appeared to me while I was still under. I know what I am now, more or less, and I can remember most of my previous lives, but Lyss’s memories are a lot harder to discern. I can only glean bits and pieces. Something called _Wikkōn_ comes to mind.” You grimace as hazy flashes sear through your mind. “A fight between Michael and Lucifer, a woman screaming…” The blood curdling cry echoes behind your ears, and you wince. Bringing a hand to your head, you rub your temple. “That’s about it.”

The angel nods. “This makes things easier.”

When he sees the strain leave your face, he starts the detailed recount of his exchange with your alternate persona. When Castiel finishes, you’re left a little numb. Is this a blessing? A curse? A joke of epic proportions? You’ve always known you’d play a part in the fight against Lucifer, but never have you imagined you’d be given such a pivotal role. You have no issues in directly antagonizing demons and monsters. They’re the lackeys and grunts of the supernatural world. But against sovereign powers like Lucifer... you’d much rather operate below their line of sight, slowly gathering information and forces while the opponent knows nothing of you. And yet the opposite has happened. Not only does the enemy have all the information, and with an ever-growing army, you’ve been marked as the primary target. All the demons will be looking for you. There’s no chance that Lucifer wouldn’t know you. He should be making moves against you already.

That’s what you’d do.

And what do you have? A fragmented memory from an elusive being, new abilities that you’ve no knowledge of and no idea how to control. The race against time is clearly against you. Your mind struggles to formulate plans, but the emotions impeach them, leaving a sense resentment towards your circumstances manifesting in the childish thought of _how utterly unfair this all is._

“So, all I have to do is learn to control these powers and I’ll be able to put Lucifer back in the cage,” you say acridly. You rub the bridge of your nose. The growing pressure and overwhelming obligation are assaulting your nerves, but Castiel doesn’t deserve your sour mood. Forcing a sigh, you try to take the moments in stride and expel any further thoughts of Lucifer. You put on a brave face and smile. “Sounds easy.”

There’s a sudden shattering of glass to the right, pulling both your and Castiel’s attention. Pushed to the edge of the wall and covered in honeysuckle vines is one of Bobby’s desks. On the surface is an old lamp with a now burst bulb.

Castiel looks back at you with a frown. “Your emotions are directly linked to your powers, Alice. You need to learn to regulate them.”

You almost drop your face into your hands. Your own feelings are now your worst nightmare. All your skills of deception, all those years of practice, foiled by a mere variation in your mood. You might as well be screaming at Castiel of your helplessness.

“Right, regulate, control.” You take a deep cleansing breath. “Maybe I should start doing some yoga…” you say wryly.   

Castiel nods agreeingly, the joke completely past his detection. “Proper meditation would help as well.”

You pitch an amused look at the seraph. “Duly noted, Guru Castiel.” Seeing his blank face, your momentary humor fades. “Now that God’s brought you back, are you… on friendly terms with the other angels?”

Castiel’s mood is grim again. “No. None of the other angels seem to be aware of my revival, or even of God’s intervention. Should they find me, they will continue to see me as a traitor.”

Your body tenses, and you double check your emotion before continuing. “But you were brought back by God, himself. If they realize this and continue to antagonize you, wouldn’t that make them the real traitors?”

“The problem is that they don’t believe anymore. I doubt even the archangels have been able to meet with God.”

You study the angel’s expression. There’s something else in his voice. Alarm peaks in your mind. In an effort to put a lid on the overboil of emotions, you ball your hands into fists. They quake at your sides from the exertion. “Do _you_ believe it was God who brought you back?”

His look of vulnerability returns, betraying his real thoughts. Castiel had been suppressing his doubt. “I thought I did. …I want to.”

You want yell at him, but you know it’s unreasonable. If it’s one thing that you both love and hate about him it’s his constant oscillations from faith and doubt.

His blind and naïve trust in the heavenly order frustrated you, and when shady circumstances sowed in him the seeds of doubt, it broadened his understanding of the world. Yet, it also made him unsettled. This is understandable, for the very foundation of everything he knew and acted upon was wrested from him. But now, you see him frequently arrested in moments of uncertainty. Uncertainties in his _Father,_ and worst of all, uncertainty in himself. If you were more yourself, perhaps you could’ve offered better guidance. 

“If not him, then who?”

“I don’t know.”

The dismay on the angel’s face is painful. He had rebelled against all he knew to help you and the Winchesters. You had failed, and now, branded as a traitor, he’ll continue to be hunted. The nails in your fists dig into your skin. The sentiment is arrogant, but you can’t help wishing for a way to protect him from all the other angels. But who are you to go against the might of heaven’s entirety…

You blink when a thought comes to you, your brows unfurrowing. “…Find him.”

Castiel inches forward, pulled by your sudden whisper. “What?”

You stare at him with a rousing sensation in your gut. You grab onto the sides of his arms. “Go find God! I believe that somewhere inside you, you know it was him that brought you back. Go find him. If he helped you then this shows that he’s still aware, that he’s still _interested_.”

Castiel straightens, a look of hope rising in his eyes. But then he hesitates. Was it the uncertainty again? 

“Cass, what’s wrong?” 

The angel studies the ground. “I promised Lyss I would watch over you.”

Your frown drops. The bubbling pink feeling rises again. You inwardly swat it away immediately. “I’ll be fine!” you say, too hurriedly. Clearing your throat, you adopt a calmer tone. “Until you talk to God, just check up on me now and then. This is more important.”

Castiel searches your face, his blue eyes darkening as he looms over you. “It may take a while.”

You offer him lopsided grin. “Go, Cass. I’ll be waiting. _We’ll_ be waiting.”

Castiel surrenders to your command and nods. Then, a shift in his expression. He’s remembering something. “Before I go. Alice, take off your jacket.”

You drop your hands and lean back. “What? Why?”

“I need to remove the tracking mark Uriel burned on you. It allows _all_ angels to find you no matter where you are or what protection spells you’ve used. And if you’re as big of a threat to Lucifer as I think you are, he’ll do whatever it takes to get to you.”

Your face blanch at the notion. Quickly shedding the denim jacket, you pull back the neckline of your shirt to reveal the coin-sized mark scorched on the corner of your collar bone.

Castiel narrows his eyes at the Enochian symbol. Reaching out, he presses his hand to your shoulder before smoothing his thumb over the mark. There’s a rush of heat outpouring from his palm, shooting through the marred skin and into the rest of your body. You shudder as the warmth rolls forward, leaving you feeling quite light-headed. Taking notice, Castiel catches you around the waist while the other hand grabs onto your wrist. With your mind still swimming, you glance up at the angel. His face is only a breath away, and you wonder if he can hear the pounding in your veins. For the next few moments, he continues to stare at you, and you start to wonder if he is going to kiss you again.

“Are you all right?”

You feel his warm words on your cheek and the heat rolls back. You grit your teeth, trying to get your bearings. “Yeah...” Starting to feel like an infatuated idiot, you recoil from his hold.

Castiel drops his hands in an instant. “I apologize if that was uncomfortable. But I’m not finished.”

You glance at your shoulder, eager to keep your eyes from his face and study the unblemished skin. “But the mark’s gone…”

The angel seems tentative with his task. “I’m going to burn an Enochian Sigil onto your ribs as an added measure of safety. It’s the same one I gave to Sam and Dean. It’ll hide you completely from Lucifer and the other angels.”

Your arm subconsciously moves over your chest. “That… sounds unpleasant.”

“It is.” His severe gaze is unchanged. “But the pain is brief.”

You eye his hand warily, sighing. “All right. Better safe than sorry, I guess…” You clench your fists in preparation. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Castiel pushes his hand onto your upper abdomen. When the energy strikes you, you immediately lurch, feeling as if you’ve just been pummeled by a smoldering cannon ball.

“Ow!” you squeak out, skipping back. You press your hand to where he burned you, still grimacing from the shock. “You weren’t kidding!” And just as Castiel said, after a few more pants, the pain is gone. You straighten your back, momentarily embarrassed by the dramatic protest. You clear your throat again before your eyes find their way back to the angel.

Castiel watches you with an indiscernible emotion. “I’ll be leaving now.” Despite it being meant as a declaration, it sounds more like a question.

You quietly nod, feeling a little saddened.

“If you need anything, just call my name.”

You smile. “You be careful too.”

Leaving you with one last lingering glance, Castiel leaves.

Your eyes hover over the space of his departure. With your new vision, you can see how the angel travels.

Rather than the sharp ascent of flight you imagined, his intangible wings made a warp in space. As they unfurled from his back in a show of dazzling light, the motion carved a small fissure, causing distortions around him. With another flutter, his white wings enclosed over his form, interlacing remiges. Then, as if being sucked into a vacuum, his immaculate form wrenched towards the fissure and disappears. The distortion quickly resealed and the contortions in space reverted to normal.

No longer able to feel his light, you bring your eyes back to survey the garden. Sighing, and in desperate need of a cold shower, you push at the door and head upstairs.

 

***

 

~With Dean and Sam~

 

The drive back to Bobby’s house was uncomfortable to say the least. Even with the old man’s forgiveness, Dean found himself unable to forget the decisions made by his younger brother. He knew that Sam had the right intentions, and a part of him might even understand why he did the things he did. But drinking demon blood, siding with the hell spawn, and choosing her over him repeatedly. He didn’t want to admit it, but it hurt.

Sam, on the other hand, was listlessly silent. In the car, he snuck glances at his brother on numerous occasions, searching for the words that may ease the hurt and betrayal he caused. But in the end, he knew no matter what explanations he offered, Dean’s reticence wouldn’t change.

And so, with suppressed feelings and unspoken words, the brothers rode on in silence until they finally arrived at their destination.

Slamming the car door shut, Dean scans the outside of Bobby’s house. “You tried her cell?”

“Yeah.” Sam steps out of the car after his brother, closing the door more gently. “Nothing.”

“Well, Bobby did say she was in the basement... uh, _recuperating_.” Dean curls his lips uncomfortably around the word. He remembers the odd look on Bobby’s face when he described Alice that same way. “Maybe she’s still there.”

Walking up to the porch, the two hunters nod to one another. Dean turns the knob.

Unlocked.

Not a good sign. Both boys immediately take out their guns. Pushing past the door, they tread into the house. Despite the silence, the boys see the objects scattered across the floor, a possible sign of struggle. Sam motions for Dean to circle around the main floor while he checks the upstairs. Keeping a firm finger near the trigger, the younger Winchester creeps up the steps to the top floor. He first inspects Bobby’s bedroom, then the guest bedroom. Other than a few objects on the floor, everything seems relatively undisturbed. This is until Sam lays his eyes on the bathroom. Where the door had previously been is now a shattered plank of splinters. The hinges are completely ripped apart. Sam swallows, tightening his jaw. He points his gun barrel at the entrance as he inches through the threshold.

Nothing.

Even knowing the bathtub is empty, he swipes back the shower curtain just in case. Releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Sam casts a lingering glance at the battered door then retreats downstairs.

“Anything?” Dean asks as they reconvene.

“A few things fell, and the bathroom door is completely destroyed. It was like something ripped it apart.”

Dean throws a suspicious look upstairs. “Right. C’mon, we still gotta check the basement.”

The brothers stride to the cellar door, honing their senses the moment they take their first step. The way down is just as quiet as the rest of the house. Rounding the corner at the bottom of the stairs, the two scan the area for further signs of danger. When they settle their attention on the last unchecked part of the house, they edge towards the vault. Dean makes an odd face at the semi-closed iron door. Are those flowers he smells?

“Alice?” he calls out.

Sam grabs onto the door and pulls it back, revealing the lush and colorful interior.

“The hell?”

Their breaths are caught in their throats as the men stare at the wide array of flowers and plants spilling across the room. Their speechless expressions trail up the iron walls and across its circumference, which is now covered in vines and tiny blossoms. But what is most absurd is the small but sturdy looking willow tree in the middle of the room. Conquering majority of the space, the tree has all of Bobby’s furniture either pushed to the rim or swallowed in greenery.

Sam is the first to recover. “D-did Bobby get a new hobby?”

“You kidding? The guy can’t even keep a cactus alive.”  Dean shoots his brother an exasperated look, prompting a shrug from Sam.

“I mean, can you imagine Bobby gardening?” Dean continues, “The man’s made up of booze and rust. I’m surprised there’s even grass growing in the front yard.”

 

Back at the hospital, Bobby sneezes.

 

“Okay.” Sam nods, still staring at the surreal view. “Thinking about it, it would take a long time for all this to grow. And we were here –what, only two weeks ago?”

Dean leers at the vault with suspicion, feeling repelled by the unusual garden. “Let’s get upstairs. Alice ain’t here, and this is creeping me out.” The hunter eagerly turns to leave.

“It’s just some flowers and a tree, Dean.” Sam’s attention stays a moment longer before he follows after his brother.

Once Dean is on the main floor, he slides his gun back in the holster under his jacket. “Flowers, trees, grass. They belong outside, okay? Not in the panic room. It’s weird that they’re even able to grow. There’s nothing but metal in there.”

“Okay, all right.” Sam cedes to his brother’s bizarre paranoia of indoor plants, slamming the cellar door shut behind him. “So, what now? Alice isn’t here. Do you think someone took her? The angels maybe?” He freezes mid-step, whirling to Dean with alarm. “Lucifer?”

“Shit,” Dean cusses. He glances around the room for an idea. Alice isn’t answering her cellphone. There’s a broken bathroom door and a weird garden downstairs. Maybe it _was_ Lucifer. He has no idea if Castiel got to Alice, and there’s still that tracking mark Uriel put on her. Dean swears in his head. Did that mark allow Lucifer to track her too?

There’s a thump from the front door, and the entrance door swings open.

Dean and Sam have their weapons ready in split second, the barrels pointing towards a hooded intruder.

“Don’t move!” Dean shouts out.

The intruder gives out a startled scream, immediately followed by the sound of very beer bottle shattering in the six pack she’s holding.

The brothers examine the trespasser again, realizing the person is carrying a large box of pizza in one arm while the other is holding onto a now soaking box of broken glass. Her figure and voice are especially familiar. The Winchester battle ready stances unravel into expressions of incredulity when the girl drops the leaking box and pulls off her hoodie.

Her look of irritation, exact as the first time the brothers encountered her, is starting to become a habitual greeting. The discrepancy compared to their first meeting? The girl isn’t upset because they were about to off an innocent newly-turned werewolf, but because her shirt is completely wet and covered in specks of beer foam. She emits a growl like sigh as she tosses her hair back, a mass of cluttered black locks that fall past her elbow. It’s only then that the brothers realize it’s raining outside.

“Alice?” Dean lowers his gun.

“Nice to see you, too.” The girl veers to the living room and places the pizza box onto the coffee table. “Of course, it would’ve been nicer if I wasn’t soaked in beer.”

“What happened to you?” Sam examines her appearance while he tucks away the firearm. “The last time we saw you was in the convent. Then Bobby said you appeared in his basement, which is covered in plants right now, and—,” he pauses with a strange look. “Was your hair always like that?”

There’s a quick rise and fall of Alice’s shoulders, in which the brothers can only assume to be an impatient sigh with her back turned to them. Pivoting on her heels, she grants the two Winchesters a look of unexpected nonchalance. “Look guys. I’ll explain everything. But first,” she gestures to the large soaked area in her green shirt and jeans, flecked with shards of glass. “Let me go upstairs to change and wash up first. Then, I promise. Every question you have.”

There’s a restless rumble from the back of Dean’s throat, but he reluctantly gives his okay.

Sam, on the other hand, reins in his anxiety with more finesse. “The bathroom door is broken, by the way.”

Alice waves a hand in response, moving up the stairs. “Yeah, I know.”

When she rounds the railing and disappears from view, Dean fixes his attention on the sopping box near the entrance. “How’d the bottles break…” He glances at his brother. “We didn’t fire anything.”

Sam sighs and shrugs. He walks over to the cupboard in the kitchen and pulls out a broom and mop. “Help me with this.”

Dean makes a non-committal noise as Sam tosses the mop to him. He watches with an arm propped over the handle as the tall man hunches over to gather the shards back into the beer box.

“God, when are we gonna catch a break? Whole world’s going to hell, Bobby’s a paraplegic, and now we have whatever the hell Alice is going through. Remember when things were simpler? When all we had to deal with were monsters, ghosts, and demons?”

The irony of his brother’s comment isn’t lost on Sam. “Could be worse.” He goes to search the cupboards for a garbage bag. “At least we’re still alive.” He wishes he actually believed his own words.

When Sam returns with a bag and disposes the wet carton, Dean starts on the mopping. It isn’t for a few more minutes until they hear Alice’s footsteps coming down the stairs. By then, both the boys have already started on her pizza, Dean stretched out on the couch and Sam on a chair to the other side of the coffee table. They turn to see Alice standing at the bottom of the steps staring at them with narrowed eyes. With her hair now in a quick pony tail, she sports a simple gray long sleeve and a new pair of jeans.

“Help yourselves, guys.” Her voice is clearly sarcastic.

Dean swallows another huge mouthful. “Hey, we drove all the way here to check on you. That’s two towns over non-stop. We deserve this.”

Alice just shakes her head and struts towards them.

Sam washes his bite down with a sip from his beer can. “We tried calling your cell, but you never picked up.”

Setting herself on the couch next to Dean, Alice reaches out and pulls a slice, worried if she waits any longer, there’d be no more left. “Yeah, I totally lost it. I think I dropped it somewhere between the time I was in that hotel to when Zachariah had me locked up.” Before Dean can take a swig from his own beer, Alice snatches the can from him and downs it herself.

“Hey! That’s mine.”

The girl holds up a finger while she chugs the entire can. When she finishes, she tosses it into the nearest wastebasket. “ _I_ deserved that. If you guys hadn’t scared me, my six-pack would still be here.”

Dean throws his hands up and mutters under his breath. He gets up to the kitchen for another can.

“Yeah, sorry about that. We didn’t know it was you. And with the house all messy—well, messier than usual, we were kinda on edge.”

The sides of her brow relax, her eyes become cool. Sam _is_ the sincerer one. When he sees that he has sufficiently pacified her, he starts his questioning. “So, are you okay in filling us in now?”

Dean is back with a new can and plops himself back on the couch. “We cleaned that up. You’re welcome by the way.” He wags the can in front of her. “You ain’t touching this one.”

Sam clears his throat at his brother, trying to relay telepathically that the man should shut up and eat his pizza. Dean only returns with a silent ‘what?’ gesture.

Alice notes their little exchange and decides to save them the trouble. “All right. I said I was gonna explain everything, so, here goes.”

With a deep breath, she starts her long winded recount beginning at the moment she was separated from the brothers at the convent. She explains the phenomenal change she experienced, the memories that were locked away, her origins, and the woman named Lyss that is now a separate but also connected entity who resides within her.

As Alice continues her story, the faces on the brothers become increasingly sober, shifting from looks of utter amazement to downright skepticism. And when she finally finishes, Sam and Dean are left still mentally reeling at the fantasy-like tale.

“You’re telling me you were the one who had Lucifer locked up in the first place?” Dean doesn’t even bother to hide his disbelief. His voice is becoming shrill again.

Alice bits her lips. “Well, Lyss did. But technically, yes.”

The hunter’s face is strained with exasperation. “Right. This character, Lyss, who you say lives in your head, is the savior of mankind.”

Her back straightens, eyes tight with scrutiny. He might as well have accused her of insanity.

“You know what people call that, right? When you have more than one personality living inside your head?”

“Dean!” Sam cautions under his breath.

Alice, however, looks completely unfazed. “You mean Dissociative Personality Disorder?”

Dean raises his head with pursed lips. “I was gonna say schizophrenia.”

Alice rolls her eyes. “Please, schizophrenia is completely misrepresented and frankly clichéd. People who suffer from it are often quite sane.”

“You’re not helping your case.”

“Okay, guys,” Sam finally intervenes. “We’re not getting anywhere.” He throws a glance at his brother. “Dean, shut up.” Ignoring the man’s protests, he then switches to the girl. “Alice, is there anything you can show us regarding your transformation? I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but it does sound a little too good to be true.”

Alice looks away in thought. “Trust me, the situation isn’t at all too good to be true, but I guess I don’t really have a knack for explanations. Cass was able to make it sound so reasonable…”

Dean swerves. “Wait, you saw Cass?”

Alice glances back at the two, noticing the change in their demeanor. “Yeah. He was here when I woke up. He met her—met Lyss, and told me what happened. He then burned the Enochian sigil into me before he left.” She faces away for a moment, looking a bit embarrassed. Shaking her head of some thought, Alice returns to the present discussion. “Cass said he gave you guys the same sigil.”

Sam moves to touch his chest, remembering the burn he felt. “Yeah. Okay, so if Cass saw Lyss, then he can corroborate your story.”

The immortal makes a face. “Why is this sounding more and more like I’m some suspect in a b-rated flick?” She stands up from the couch and with both hands on her hips, she spins to position herself in front of the boys. “The plants in the basement, I caused that. I may not know everything right now, but I understand that being a _Wikkōn_ means that I draw my powers from the Earth. Not only that, I can see and sense things I couldn’t before.” Her eyes give the room a swift sweep. “For example. I see the energies of the different creatures that live here.” She points to the ceiling. “The small family of rats in the attic,” then to opposing wall, “the insects burrowing along the walls,” then to the study table in front of the wall, “that spider in the Bobby’s desk.”

The two hunters followed her constant pointing, ending with the scratched-up furniture behind them.

“Even your energies.”

Sam and Dean spin back to the girl. Alice is now eyeing them like objects, her gaze plunging through them. The brothers feel strangely exposed.

“Since I walked through the door, there’s been an odd tension in the both of you. I don’t know what happened, but there’s dead air between you two.”

The boys grow silent, looking away from each other.

There’s a mixture of pity and annoyance in her eyes. “No offence, but you guys have more drama than a teenage couple on prom night.”

But the boys did take offence.

“Okay. This is good. The next time Lucifer comes around, you can just use your witchy powers to seal him away.” Dean can’t help sounding vindictive.

Alice jabs a finger at him. “First of all, it’s _Wikkōn_ , which is a hundred times cooler.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Second, have you not been listening? I can’t control this yet. If I lose my calm, the stuff around me starts breaking.”

Sam takes on a brooding face. “That’s how you broke the bottles? We startled you, and you lost control of your… powers?”

Alice brings a hand to her brow and groans. “Not to mention the bathroom door.”

“Wait, you did that? It was like a bear mauled it.”

She rubs the bridge of her nose, eyes closed and brows knit. “Which is why I say my situation is anything but ‘too good to be true’. I can’t even pull the small spells anymore. I tried closing the door with one and instead had it shattered.”

Sam raises his eyebrows while Dean rubs the back of neck.

“I guess you fixing up Bobby is outta the question.”

Alice looks up in alarm. “Why would Bobby need fixing? Where is he?”

When Dean doesn’t answer, she switches the demand to his brother. Sam’s attention shifts uneasily between her and the floor.

“We dropped the ball. We found something called the Michael Sword from Chuck, and Bobby drove out to help us decrypt the location. We thought we could use it against Lucifer-”

“Blah blah blah. Long story short, the sword turns out to be a bust, and Bobby got possessed by a demon on his drive to us. If he hadn’t broken the demon’s control and stabbed himself, I’d be breathing out of a tube right now.” Though Dean’s voice is harsh, his face is shadowed with guilt.

Sam peers over to his brother and a similar look of culpability paints his face.

“But, he’s okay now, right?” Alice grips the hem of her shirt. “Or else, you wouldn’t be here.”

Sam lowers his head, the shadow over his eyes darkening. “Bobby’s not in any life-threatening danger, but the doctor said there’s a good chance he won’t be able to walk again.”

Alice stares mechanically at the younger Winchester. Bobby is a hunter, without his legs, the profession would be impossible. Her eyes dance across the space as she searches her mind for a solution. “What about Cass? Can’t he heal him?”

Dean clicks his tongue. “Cass said he’s cut off from Heaven’s mojo, with his whole rebellion and all. Now he’s off trying to find _God_.” Cynicism drips from his tone. “Took my lucky pendant with him too.” That remark earned him a look of disdain.

“For the record, I was the one who suggested he look for _God_.” She ignores the disbelief on the hunter’s face. “And second. Lay off him, Dean. The guy risked everything and **died** , by the way, to help us. We failed to stop the apocalypse and now he’s being hunted by his own kind! Think maybe you should change your attitude?”

Dean looks away in a wordless grumble. He knows just how much the angel sacrificed, and how sour his own feelings are. But he just can’t shake the agonizing discontent. He just wishes things could go back to the way they were. Before Lucifer and angels and Ruby. When he and Sammy were just hunting monsters, when they still trusted each other. The man relents, but when he looks back to the scolding girl, she is no longer glaring at him. Her face is now soft with sympathy. Dean isn’t sure which he prefers less.

 “What happens now?” Sam cuts the dreary silence for his brother’s sake. “Do you think you’ll be able to learn to control your powers?”

Alice drops the sentimental visage and replaces it with a more pensive one. “Well, apparently, from what I’ve gleaned from my memories of Lyss, I’m supposed to wait it out. The basic integrity of my body has changed,” she lifts her hand and flexes her fingers, “but it’ll still take a while before these powers settle into my new body. Until then... Cass recommended meditation?”

Dean purses his lips, his mouth full of unexpressed acerbity.

Sam rubs his hands together, trying to appear optimistic. “But, eventually you’ll control it. Then we’ll be able to take down Lucifer.” He looks to Dean, patting him on the shoulder. “This is good news. This could be the break we’ve been waiting for!”

Dean slides a hand across his jaw, unconvinced but decides to keep his opinions suppressed. “Yeah, maybe.”

Alice starts to look uneasy, her voice is an octave higher. “It might take a while, so we should probably work on a backup plan.”

Sam is too focused on cheering up his brother to notice the girl’s distress. “Yeah, of course. But it’s nice to know we got a secret weapon up our sleeves if things don’t pan out.”

There’s a shattering clang.

The brothers turn to the lamp on Bobby’s desk. The broken glass and wire pieces litter over the messy paperwork. They veer back to Alice pointedly. Her face might as well have the guilty sign stamped across it.

“Sorry. No pressure please.”

Sam’s lips pull into an awkward smile. “Yeah. Sure.”

Dean just shakes his head. 

 

 

* * *

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!!**

 


	13. To Catch a Liar

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!!!**

* * *

You inhale deeply, bringing your outstretched arms back down. You tilt your head upwards, basking in the sunlight. Opening your eyes, you survey the dusk glow over the silent road meters away from the motel.

At this moment, you’re sitting cross-legged on top of the motel roof. In fact, you’re pretty sure guests are not allowed up here, but you couldn’t find anywhere peaceful enough to practice your calm. Normally, you would have taken your bouts of meditation in secluded parks or woods. But, with the nonstop road trip you’ve been on, the current selected accommodation offers nothing but empty fields and farmland.

You gaze at your hands, your fingers tingling. You believe you’re coming to understand the fundamentals of your powers, providing they seem most revitalized near the presence of nature. Just as your mood is lifted by this moderate improvement, the familiar vroom of a Chevy Impala interrupts your thoughts. You glance down from the roof and watch as the dark car pulls in from the road and into the parking spot in front of your room. Through the windshield, you can see Dean’s grim expression, the same look he was wearing when Sam left.

 

~3 weeks ago~

 

After your reconnection with Sam and Dean, they drove you out to see Bobby. Although you had confessed your current helplessness, you assured him that you’d get him back the use of his legs. The old man offered you a begrudging smile at that. It was right then that he told you about a distress call he received from another hunter named Rufus. The call seemed pretty urgent, and since there was no way Bobby could respond, he asked you and the Winchesters to provide help in his place.

During the rescue, you became acquainted with Ellen and Joanna, two other hunter friends of the brothers. Despite the scale of violence and confusion that came with the mission, in the end, Rufus was rescued, and you were all able to walk out alive. The victory was in fact minor in comparison to the discovery made through this incident.

Lucifer had not been idle since his freedom. In bringing about Armageddon, he began to unleash the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse. War, the creature you and the Winchesters had encountered, was the instigator of the madness that occurred in River Pass. With joint efforts, you wrung back his malevolent influences by cutting off the ring on his index finger. Once removed, War vanished, leaving behind nothing but his gold band. Things took a turn for the worse soon after. With three more horsemen running rampant, you knew you needed all the help you could get. Yet, before you were able to devise a plan for the next course of action, Sam unloads his true sentiments.

 

…

 

“You’re leaving?” you ask, aghast, feeling like you’ve been doused with cold water.

It was the day after the River Pass ordeal, and the three of you had stopped at a small diner on your way out of Colorado. The day was sunny, the scenery picturesque, rendering the previous events grizzly and surreal by comparison.

Sam’s morose gaze drops to the ground. “Yeah.”

You search his face. “Why?”

The man grips onto the straps of his backpack, inching it up his shoulder. “If I stay with you guys, I’ll only make things worse.” He stops you before you can protest. “Alice, when I killed those two boys…. All I could think about when I saw their blood on my knife… was how much I wanted to drink it.”

Your voice falters.

Sam lifts his face, staring you square in the eyes. Though his hazel irises are filled with self-loathing and shame, there is a tint of somber acceptance. “I remember there was a time when I couldn’t even come close to killing. Now, no matter how much I try to deny it, it’s become the norm. This thirst for demon blood, for power. War was right. I can’t be trusted around you guys. I can’t be a hunter anymore.”

You watch the man, tongue tied. His confession has completely knocked out all the rebuttals your mind was preparing. You blow out a slow breath, casting your gaze to the patch of weeds sprouting a few feet away. How do you convince a man of his virtues when he doesn’t even believe he has them? Settling your attention back to Sam, you grasp his shoulder. You vie to convey the vulnerable man your support. “Sam, I disagree with you, but I understand.”

Sam dips his head, appearing grateful and guilty at the same time. “I get it, with everything that’s happened, leaving you guys to face the apocalypse and all, it’s like I’m abandoning everyone—”

You cut off him before he continues the self-abuse. “It’s okay. I know you need this. Go, and be safe.”

His jaw clamps shut, his face rigid. You pull the tall man into a heart-wrenching hug, you’ve grown to be so fond of him. Upon release, you give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I want you to know, when you’re ready, feel free to come back. I’ll be waiting.” You then nod towards the elder Winchester, sitting by himself on a picnic table a few yards away. “And even if Dean doesn’t realize it, he’ll be waiting too.”

His eyes carry over to the same picnic table, swimming with conflicting emotions. You give him a light pat on the arm, knowing he’ll want to say his goodbyes to Dean. Sam gives you a final nod before he squares his shoulders and walks off in his brother’s direction.

 

…

 

You had thought Dean would put up more of a fight, but as he explained to you in the car after Sam was long gone, he was relieved about his brother’s departure. Dean reiterated over and over again that he didn’t have to constantly worry about Sam and his actions anymore. He was a free man, and he felt elevated. You thought Dean was being rather defensive, but you kept your opinions silent.

Originally, Dean decided it would be best if you stayed with Bobby. That way, he would be able to have someone for help now that he’s in a wheelchair, and you’d be able to practice your new powers (he had said with air quotations) in a safe place. You held back your biting retorts, knowing Dean was putting up a front, and that he really just wanted to be alone with his thoughts. When he passed his suggestion to Bobby over the phone, the old man thoroughly chewed him out. Under the array of colorful language, it was finalized that even in his wheelchair, Bobby was still a completely independent and functioning individual who required no one’s assistance. And with that, you were left to continue your road trip with a simmering Dean, and a very uncomfortable atmosphere.

For the next few weeks, you and Dean were off hunting whatever piqued the Winchester’s radar. Following Sam’s absence, Dean had seemed particularly focused on monster killing. In the first few days, when he wasn’t dragging you into research or to the police departments posing as FBI agents, he’d be dragging you to bars. You, being able to see past his façade of bravado, did your best to supply company. Many times, the man would drink himself sick, and you would have to carry him back to whatever motel you were staying at. He had never acted like this when Sam was around.

During one of his drunken stupors, he had unwittingly revealed to you his last encounter with Zachariah and what the Michael Sword really was. The man had started with an incoherent cursing of God and angels, and after a few pressing questions from you, he spilled the beans on everything that weighed on his mind. And boy, was there a lot. You were surprised how Dean could function the way he did given the amount of problems he’d suppressed in his psyche. All in all, the secret he kept that troubled you the most was the tie he now had to the strongest archangel of all. He was to be Michael’s vessel. And the angels were pursuing him for his consent. Michael needed Dean’s permission to use his body, and the hunter was repulsed by the notion.

You became much nicer to him after that day.

During the following weeks, the two of you continued to grace the different pubs with your presences after a hunt. On numerous occasions, as soon as you left to use the washroom, you would find Dean immersed in conversation with one of the most attractive women in the pub, having completely forgotten your existence. If you hadn’t been so impressed with his game and sympathetic to his loss, you would’ve marched right up and cock-blocked him. Instead, you simply sat yourself down in a corner table and watched over him. On the days when Dean seemed chipper, you would leave as soon as you were sure a girl is smitten with him. During his darker times, you would stay waiting for him until the pub was ready to throw him out. The man was hard to take care of, and it made you wonder how Sam was fairing.

So, once again, when you saw that the hunter had engaged the interest of a pretty redhead by the bar, you decided to take a cab back to the motel.

 

~Present time~

 

Knowing Dean would be looking for you, you quickly get up. After a quick scan around the area for any bystanders, you hop over the ledge and drop onto the pavement. Just as you straighten from your crouch, the door to your room swings open, revealing a startled-looking Dean.

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

You raise an eyebrow, placing a hand at your hip. “What, with you out sleeping with every hot girl you can find, I can’t take a small stroll outside?”

Dean seizes your wrist and yanks you back into the room. Giving the outside another once over, he closes the door. He quickly releases you with a pointed look. “Do you have your hex bag with you? Lucifer’s looking for you, remember?”

You notice the strange tension in the hunter’s stature. “Yes, I have it with me at all times. What’s wrong? You’re usually more amiable after your one-night liaisons.”

Dean doesn’t appreciate your quip. “Yeah well. Turns out, I almost shacked up with a demon.” He shudders. “I spent the rest of the day driving around for a place to dump the body. They’re actively looking for us now. Lucifer pretty much put a bounty on our skulls.” He walks past you and shrugs off his jacket. The motion shakes off dirt residue, corroborating his claim. “They really wanted you though. Guess the devil’s getting serious about you.” Dean cranes his head back to shoot you a jeering glance. “How does it feel to be on the top of the devil’s wanted list?”

Your face is void of any emotion. A few days ago, the idea of Lucifer and the responsibility of stopping him would have cracked a few lightbulbs and glassware, but not anymore.

Dean took notice of your distress and found the reaction rather hilarious. He would prod you with the notion whenever he found the chance.

You’re rather proud of yourself at reigning in your emotions. When the hunter realizes he isn’t going to get anything out of you, he shrugs.

“I guess you’re getting better.”

Tired of his mocking humor, you decide this would be the perfect time to fetch some dinner. “I’m gonna head out to find us some food. Any preferences?”

From the bathroom, Dean turns around with exasperation. “I just said Lucifer has demons all over looking for you, and all you can think about is food?”

You pull out the hex bag from your pocket and dangle the pouch at eye-level. “Make your decision, or all you’re getting is salad.”

“Do it and die. I want something meaty. …And pie.”

You nod knowingly and head out the door. “Of course.”

 

*

 

When you return to the motel, you notice the Impala is missing. You quickly enter the room only to find it empty. Glancing around the silent space, you feel wary from Dean’s sudden disappearance.

If there was a job, he would have called you. If demons found him, there should be signs of struggle.

The room, however, is in the exact shape you left it. It takes you awhile before you notice the wrinkled piece of paper lying on the ground next to the table. A breeze from the window must have blown it off. You drop your sandwich and Dean’s double bacon cheeseburger and blueberry pie onto the table. Stooping down, you pick up the sheet and read the scraggily handwriting. It’s a message from Dean.

_Got a distress call from a hunter friend. Simple job. Will be back in a few days._

You stare at the rather simplistic message. Taking out your phone, you scan the call history. Nothing. Something feels fishy. Why didn’t Dean just call you? You press the screen beside his number and bring the phone to your ear. The phone rings for quite a bit before you finally hear the clicking of a call answered.

“What is it?”

You breathe out in silent relief. “You couldn’t wait for me? I was only gone for twenty minutes.”

“Sorry, it sounded pretty urgent.”

You narrow your eyes. “You wrote that it was a simple job.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. “It is, but it’s also urgent. Look, just hang tight for a while. Practice controlling your mojo, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Tell me where the mission is and I can meet you there-”

“No!”

His forceful rejection startles you. “Look Alice. I’m gonna be fine. Relax and enjoy your time off for a bit. I’ll see you soon.”

The call ends before you can say anything else. You stare speechless at the call ended text rolling across the screen. You don’t know what Dean is up to, but his words were definitely shady. You’re about to call Bobby to see what he knew before you contemplate Dean’s words for a second time. He’s leaving you alone, which means, for the first time in a LONG time, you’re free to do what you want!

You pause.

The end of the world is still looming on the horizon. Lucifer is still on the prowl. Can you really afford to take a vacation, no matter how brief…?

You look down at the note again then to the window outside longingly. You laugh a bit. “Everyone needs a vacation now and then. If anything, I’ll probably perform a lot better after some relaxation,” you say to yourself.   

The idea immediately invigorates you. Before your conscience changes your mind, you quickly pack up your things and check out of the motel.

The nearest city is in Maine, and it’s been a while since you ventured to a large city for fun. Calling for a cab, you wait eagerly by the street side to start your monster-free holiday. 

 

*

 

You sip contentedly at your chai latte as you relax by the window seat of a quaint little café. Having booked a hotel room across the street, you are now enjoying some quality you-time, studying your spell book. The café is warmly lit, and filled with an adequate number of people. The hustle and bustle, though lively, is not overtly distracting. You feel the company of normal people to be quite soothing. When your eyes land on a small binding spell for energy repression, you’re suddenly interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Alice?”

You glance up from the book, meeting a pair of startled green eyes. The girl’s face, adorned with expertly drawn make up, is currently framed with curls of faded lavender. She is dressed in a silk blouse and a pencil skirt, finished with a pearl tweed coat hanging over her arm. Attractive would be a light description of her appearance.

“Maggie?” You stand up in equal surprise.

“You bitch!” The woman slaps a hand across your arm. “Where the hell have you been?!”

The whack didn’t hurt, but you rub the spot where she hit you out of habit. You give her a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I’ve kinda been traveling around.”

Maggie places a hand at her hip. “And you couldn’t manage one call? Your place’s been empty for weeks!”

You give a sweeping nod, starting to feel the stares drawn in by the commotion. “Um, certain circumstances prevented me from… contacting people.” You feel muddled by your vague explanation.

Her irritation passes, bringing forth a look of concern. The lavender haired woman leans forward, discretion in her tone. “Is this about a job?”

You give her a half smile. Her readiness to accept the more eccentric particularities of your life never fail to amaze you.

Maggie had been your closest friend ever since you saved her life from a coven of vampires a few years ago. They had targeted her because of her striking appearance and had saw her value as lure for future meals. The poor girl was kidnapped right from her condo, despite the building advocated for its security.

When you stole into the coven’s hideout, you had glimpsed the girl prattle on quips and excuses in an attempt to delay their death kiss. Hands bound to a bedframe, she maneuvered their attention to her voice while her fingers ripped into the rope with a glass fragment. Despite her obvious disadvantage, there was an ardent determination in her eyes. Nonetheless, even if she had managed to break free, how could she possibly outrun twelve full-fledged monsters? That was where you came in. Literally. The moment Maggie’s bindings broke apart, you set the entire left of the building ablaze. Through the panic, you tore into their midst. With nothing but a dagger in hand, you extinguished the vampire family in minutes.

“Yeah,” you finally answer, the memories of your first encounter enliven you.

Maggie throws a suspicious glance around the café. “So, there are monsters here, then? In Maine?”

“Probably not, I’m not here on a job.” You sit back down and gesture for her to take the seat across from you. “I’m actually taking a short vacation.” You pause, shooting her a strange look. “What are you doing here?”

Maggie lowers herself onto the chair, batting her lashes in a demure fashion. “Well, you weren’t the only person having adventures. I’ve been doing quite a bit of moving around myself. You know how I don’t like to stay in one place for too long. I’d took a job here out of curiosity, and so far, it’s been a party!”

You raise an eyebrow, genuinely interested. Maggie’s professional interests have always been atypical. “What do you do?”

She flashes a cat like smile then glances to the silver-plated watch at her wrist. “Actually, it’s almost time for me to start my shift.” She rummages through her wallet and slides a glossy black business card across the table. “Why don’t you come by at around midnight? I’ll give you a tour. Then we’ll go for drinks and you’ll spill about everything that’s been happening.”

You pick up the card, examining the gleaming double Ks placed at the center of the card. On the other side are the letters VIP printed in equally refracting font. You narrow your eyes at the obscurity. Glancing up at the scheming face of your friend, you pitch her a grin, accepting her challenge. “All right. Sounds fun.”

Maggie stands up, eyes glittering. “See you soon!” She wiggles her fingers at you in adieu and struts out of the café.

You watch her disappearing form in amusement then examine the business card once more. It certainly seems posh enough. “Interesting….” Bringing your musings to a close, you open up your spell book and continue reading.

 

*

 

  You stand idly as the suited man studies you with a look of sly interest. You withstand the gaze, unwavering in your expression. You know you’re in the right place. What you don’t know is what you’ll be in for behind the large black doors behind the bouncer.

You had researched on your laptop for the location of Maggie’s work using the obscure business card she’s given you. The only thing that appeared on the search engines was an address to a restaurant bar and nothing else. When you arrived at the establishment, despite the appearance of its haut-culture, you still had trouble believing that Maggie, _your_ Maggie, would be working at a simple restaurant. Eager to cure your curiosity, you entered the restaurant and passed the business card to the Maître’D. You’re then immediately led towards the black doors behind a set of velvet curtains.

The bouncer gives a curt bow of his head, customary to all VIP clients, you assume. “Your presence is expected, Miss Grey.”

A fleeting look of amusement passes through your features. Maggie had enlisted the identity you adopted when you first met her. Nodding, you step past the man when he opens the doors for you. There is another hostess waiting on the other side. The bouncer promptly passes your card to her, and she replies with a verifying dip of her head.

“This way, Miss Grey.”

You’re led into a grand but dark hallway that curves steadily to the left. The entire left wall is replaced by two layers of glass rippling with water in between. Bluish violet light looms past the waterfall, casting transient rays over you and the opposite wall as you pass. You gaze on in marvel, unable to remember the last time you visited a place so ritzy. Eventually, the hostess stops in front of another black door and turns the knob. The entrance swings open to a wide circular room with a view overlooking the establishment below. You walk tentatively into the room, examining the layout. By the wall to the right, the lulling melody of jazz music plays from the seven feet speakers on either side of a giant flat-screen. Two meters in front is an arching purple leather couch.

“This is your VIP lounge. Please make yourself comfortable. Your entertainment will be arriving shortly.” The hostess bows her head respectively and closes the door behind her.

You raise an eyebrow at her departure. “Entertainment, huh?” You wonder just what in the world Maggie had planned. Noticing the dancing light beyond the panoramic view of the windows, you step towards the spectacle. Your eyebrows nearly pop off your head as you take in the scenery below.

Similarly decorated to your lounge, the space beneath is accented with purple and black meshing of designs, reminding you strongly of the Victoria Secret stores. Placed across the black marble flooring are various booths of black couch seats and violet clothed tables. The entire room is darkened, save for the feeble lights off the walls. But what piques your attention is not the furniture or the interior design, it is the exorbitant display of carnal foreplay between the men dressed in suits and the women dressed in… a lack thereof dress. You utter a silent ‘wow’ as you watch several women lead their partners away through the adjacent halls. It’s a brothel. Maggie had led you to a brothel. You close your eyes and bring a hand to your brow, a defeated smile playing on your lips.

The clicking of the doorknob enters your hearing, and you look towards the entrance. Standing at the doorway is none other than your completely ludicrous friend. You shoot her an are-you-serious-face at the ensemble she is wearing.

As she closes the door, Maggie returns with an innocent ‘what?’, which is highly ironic coupled with her choice of dress. A pearl babydoll over lacy black brassiere and underwear decorates her figure. Moving down, lavender garters and suspenders draw the view to her long legs veiled with black stockings. Now here’s the perfect lingerie model if you ever saw one.

“Am I to suppose that you’re my entertainment for tonight?” you drawl, crossing your arms appraisingly.

Maggie strikes a seductive pose. “If it pleases you…”

A brief moment of silence passes as you simply stare at one another before both breaking into a peel of laughter.

“I can’t believe you got me to come here,” you say after a few intakes of breath.

Maggie saunters towards the minibar and takes out a bottle of wine and two champagne glasses. “Hey, you were the one who walked through those doors. All I did was give you a card.” She places the glasses onto the coffee table and plops down on the couch. Popping off the cork, she pours the champagne. Once both glasses are filled, she puts the bottle aside and twists around, offering you a glass over the back of the couch. You accept, swinging your legs over the same backrest and retaining the unconventional seat.

“You scheming deviant, you knew my curiosity would get the better of me.”

Maggie raises her glass, and you meet her toast with a clink. Her eyes hold a mischievous twinkle. “Aren’t you glad you’re not a cat?”

You reply with a smirk, bringing the drink to your lips. “So, this is what’s currently holding your interest?”

The girl winks. “I told you it’s a party. And not to brag, but I’m the number one request. You’d have to pass a certain bar just to catch a glimpse of me.”

You chuckle. “Now that doesn’t sound like bragging at all. And I suppose I’m to consider myself quite lucky to be in your presence?”

Maggie tilts her head in mock reserve, “Why, Alice. If you’re thinking of getting lucky tonight, you’re saying all the right words.”

Just as you share in another laugh, something distracts you. Your humor dies as you feel the familiar angelic energy. You slide off your seat and walk back to the window, glancing downwards. You instantly catch sight of the unmistakable beige trench coat.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Behind you, Maggie approaches. Concerned by the sudden diversion which now holds your focus, she follows your line of vision.

You stare at the angel, sticking out like a sore thumb in the crowd with his effusion of heavenly energy. It takes you a while before you even notice the elder Winchester sitting across the table from him. A server approaches with two pints and places the drinks in front of both men. Your brow twitches. Dean told you he was helping a friend on an urgent job. Just what in the _hell_ is he doing here, and with Castiel of all people—er angels?

“Friends of yours?”

Your eyes thin into a seething narrow. “Yes.”

She raises a brow at your hiss, then turns to survey the pair again. “They’re pretty yummy looking.”

You glare down at Dean as he gestures animatedly towards the different girls. “Wanna show me how to get down there? I think I need to have a word with my _friends_ …”

Maggie glances back and forth between you and the men below. A look of delight blooms on her face. “Sure.” Hooking onto your arm, she leads you out the door. You’re hardly paying attention as you’re towed through the corridors and down the stairs. All you can think about is how you’re going to rip Dean a new one for lying to you. If he wanted some alone time, he could have just said. It feels insulting for him to employ such a roundabout lie just so he can get his game on at a call house. You reach the bottom floor and exit into the main lounge through a grand archway. You spot the Winchester immediately, chasing after a blonde in a black camisole, and Dean likewise, lock eyes with you. His face blanches, and he quickly spins around. Walking with a forced nonchalant manner in the opposite direction, he prays he did not catch your notice.

You breathe out a simmering breath. Pulling your arm from Maggie’s, you make a beeline for the hunter. You clamp onto the man’s shoulder, restraining him. You could feel his remorseful tension underneath your grip. With a placid grin, you spin him around to face you. “Why, hello, Dean. Fancy seeing you here.”

Dean surrenders with a heaving sigh. “How the hell did even you find me?”

You resist the urge to tear at his ear like you would a naughty man-child that he is. “Maybe you should try explaining to me why you’re here, and with Cass.”

Dean huffs out a groan. “Look. The whole thing was Cass’s idea.”

You give him a that’s-the-worst-lie-I’ve-ever-heard look.

Maggie approaches from behind, inserting herself into your interrogation. To your chagrin, she immediately captures the attention of the Winchester, baiting him with her looks like a juicy steak to a hungry wolf.

“Well, hey there,” Dean greets, pretty much forgotten about you already.

You roll your eyes.

Maggie batts her eyes at the man. “Hey.”

You turn your peeved attention to your distracting friend. “Maggie. You can’t do this right now.”

The girl pouts.

Dean looks back and forth at the two of you with a bewildered expression. “You two know each other?”

“Why did you lie to me, Dean?” you snap.

Dean fidgets, his own curiosity struggling with the severity of your tone. At last, he relents and puts his own desires on hold. “I wasn’t lying about this being Cass’s idea! Well— not about coming here specifically though. Totally my idea. I meant about lying to you.”

Your look demands he elaborate.

Just as Dean opens his mouth, a scream echoes across the lounge, sounding from the hall behind the opposite archway.

Maggie tilts her head at the commotion. “Well, that hasn’t happened in a while.”

You and Dean exchange knowing looks and head towards the scream. When you reach the hall, you’re greeted with dozens of onlookers standing outside their doors that line the length of the corridor. Dean moves ahead of you, blocking your view as a woman in a white babydoll screams and berates someone further down the hall. There is the sound of her hurling something before her stomping heels approach. She turns and launches an insult with an equally shrill voice at Dean then barges through the exit, leaving spectators baffled and amused.

Dean turns and steps further towards the man she was yelling at. “What the hell did you do?”

Your line of vision is finally unblocked as the disheveled looking angel is revealed to you. He lifts a blank stare to Dean.

“I don’t know. I just looked at her in the eyes and told her it wasn’t her fault that her father, Gene, ran off. It was because he hated his job at the post office.” Castiel glances down the hall again after the girl’s infuriated departure, only to have his gaze caught by your presence.

You can’t help it. You’ve completely lost your earlier vexation at the sight of him. You bring a hand your mouth, trying to stifle your laughter.

Dean shakes his head in exasperation. “Oh, no, man! This whole industry runs on absent fathers! It’s the natural order.”

Castiel’s attention is elsewhere, a deer in the headlights.

You bring an arm across your stomach, clutching your side as your entire body shakes. You feel Maggie lean against the wall next to you. “Well, your friends certainly know how to put on a show, but I’m not sure if management appreciates it.”

At her words, you glance to the lounge entrance way and see two bouncers striding forward. You turn to Dean and see the hunter has noticed the same.

“We should go. C’mon.” Dean grabs Castiel’s arm and pulls him in the other direction, but not before shooting you an urging look.

You swivel back to Maggie, your feet already inching after them. “I’m so sorry, Mags. But I gotta go.”

Her brows knit. “But we just saw each other!”

You glance back to the two and Dean is waving his hands impatiently, signaling you to follow. You take another few steps back. “I know, I’m sorry! But I really need to go with them.” You join the hunter and the angel by the door and offer your friend one last remorseful regard. “I’ll contact you as soon as I can. I promise!” You tear your eyes away from her exasperated ones and run down the emergency stairs after Dean and Castiel. When you finally emerge outside, Dean is guffawing while Castiel is still staring at you, dumbstruck.

You check to make sure you’re no longer followed before turning to the boys. You cross your arms, partly from the cold and partly to invoke sobriety to the situation. “You guys had your fun,” you drawl, trying to avoid looking at Castiel lest you start laughing again.

“Whew! It’s been a long time since I laughed that hard.” Dean sighs in contentment. He struts towards his car and leans over the hood. “It’s been more than a long time. It’s been _years_.”

“Wanna explain to me why the two of you’ve been in cahoots lying to me?”

Dean makes a face. “Who the hell says cahoots?”

Your eyes flash scathingly at the man.

“It was his idea.” Dean points to Cass.

Castiel finally manages to tear his eyes away from you to shoot Dean a withering look. When he turns his gaze back to you, you’re surveying him expectantly. “Please understand Alice. It was not my intention to lie to you, but this is a dangerous mission. Your safety was priority. Only Dean can help me.”

“Which means, technically, I wasn’t lying to you.”

You and Castiel turn to Dean with the same silencing expression.

Switching back to the angel, you cross your arms. “No offence, Cass. But seeing you playing around with a call girl isn’t exactly convincing me of your _dangerous_ mission.”

There’s an irate look on his face. “I am not referring to this as the mission. I have been searching for God, and I believe I may have found someone who knows where he is, but meeting him is dangerous. Which is why, I specifically told Dean to leave you out.”

“Um, guys?”

“What?” Both you and Castiel snap at Dean.

He holds up his hands. “Just wanted to let you know that it’s only a few hours to sunrise. Might wanna get things ready.”

Your eyes flicker to Castiel for an explanation.

There’s an internal strife behind the angel’s scrutiny. His gaze abruptly shifts to you. “Alice. Let us handle this. Please.”

You stare at him a while then to the impala stalling meters away. “Nope!” You pivot on your heel and skip towards the car. “I call shotgun!”

* * *

 

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	14. To Poke the Bear

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* * *

 

 

“You were gonna go on a suicide mission without even consulting me?”

Dean keeps his head strictly forward as you rip into the angel.

In the back seat, Castiel tenses from the anger in your voice, unconsciously edging back into the backrest. “In order to find God, I believe it is a worthwhile risk.”

You grit your teeth, your fingers scraping across the seat as they clench into fists. Hearing the squeak of leather, Dean glances down at your hands in alarm.

“Hey! Watch the upholstery!”

You’re doing all you can to keep from tearing the vehicle apart in a telekinetic fury. You take a deep breath. “Cass. You were just brought back to life a few weeks ago! And now you’re going to throw it all away on a maybe chance that Raphael would know where God is? And probably less of a chance that he’ll even tell us!”

Dean steals nervous glances at you from the driver’s seat. “Alice. I know you’re mad. We should’ve told you.”

Castiel sends the hunter a disagreeing glower. He is ignored.

“But! Do not take it out on my baby!”

You exhale through your teeth and turn your torso back to face the front. You shake your head in disbelief. “Guys, I thought we were friends! Doomed to save the world from the apocalypse together.” You gesture to the air. “Leave no man behind! That kind of thing! You don’t just kamikaze off by yourself!”

There’s a brief silence as neither angel nor hunter is willing to voice their rebuttal, lest they want to bear the brunt of your wrath. You glance at both men, studying their expressions. Then in a quieter voice, you ask, “Am I the only one who thinks we’re friends?”

 An odd silence settles in the car. Dean’s eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, gauging the angel’s reaction.

Castiel is pensive, seeming to find your declaration of amity a foreign subject. He looks up when he notices your waiting stare. “Alice. I appreciate your loyalty. But in this war against Lucifer, you need to stay alive. You’re the last hope should we exhaust all other options. You suggested I find God, and now I may actually have a lead. I must pursue it.”

Dean continues his observation with a locked jaw.

You feel sick to your stomach. “There’s gotta be some other way that doesn’t involve anyone martyring themselves!”

Castiel is stubbornly resolute. “It is worth the sacrifice.”

Your whip around, not willing to spend another second staring at the infuriating angel. “Well then, like it or not, I’m coming along.” Like hell you’re just going to sit idly as Castiel throws himself to the wolves, or in this case, wolf.

Castiel grabs onto the corner of your backrest. “Raphael can end you, Alice! You’re not a holy vessel like Dean.”

You refuse to acknowledge his voice.

“Dean. Tell her!”

Dean shakes his head. “Oh no. I’m not getting in the middle of this. We tried leaving her out, and look at how it turned out.”

The unrest that plagued you has now migrated to Castiel. “You don’t understand the extent of his power. I can’t protect you from him!”

Your ego swells with vindication, and you spin to face Castiel with a smile. “Not fun trying to convince someone they’re making a mistake, is it?”

Castiel’s mouth is agape, speechless.

The car suddenly pulls to the curb and stops. Dean turns off the key in the ignition. When you and Castiel glance up to see why Dean has stopped the car, the man simply returns with a shrug. “We’re here.”

You look up through the driver passenger window. On the other side of the street is a giant stone building with the words ‘St. Peter’s Hospital’ marked above the entrance. You get out of the Impala and slam the door. The vessel that Raphael used not days ago is supposedly sitting in a broken heap within that hospital. Seeing Dean’s retreating form, you promptly follow him across the street. Before you can take the first steps up to the front entry, you’re suddenly pulled back. Veering around, you’re forced to confront the angel, his gaze a blue storm of turmoil.

“Alice. This isn’t a request. Don’t go into the hospital.”

You heave a sigh, peering back into his anxious eyes. Lifting your hands, you pull the disheveled lapels of his coat back into place. Castiel stares wordlessly down at you as your hands then move to straighten his collar, and finally his tie. You smile up at his inquiring regard and lightly pat his chest. “Whatever happens, Cass, we’ll face it together.” Without another word, you spin on your heel and head up the stairs.

 

*

 

Dean turns the impala into the dirt driveway now overgrown with grass. “Well, that’s a day I’ll never get back.”

Despite the preparation made for Raphael’s summoning at the hospital, the day was spent in quiescence. In the end, the broken vessel remained unmoving. Deciding the plan was a failure, Dean ushered you and Castiel back to the base.

You look out the window at the abandoned home meters from the driveway. When Dean takes out his keys, you get out of the car.

The night is cold, and overtop, you can feel distant clouds rolling in. You approach the home, your shoulder brushing against the wild bushes. You feel it then, the buzzing energy in the plant life. Normally, any form of flora would be shivering with excitement the moment it feels your presence, arching towards you in longing. This time, though you feel the excitement, you also feel a twinge of alarm. There is discord in the air. You shoot a warning look at the two men beside you, and they return acknowledging nods.

Castiel enters first, bringing back the guise of nonchalance. After Dean, you stride through the crumbling front door.

“Wait.”

Just as Castiel raises a cautioning hand, a burst of electromagnetic energy floods the room, rippling outward in a crackling wave. The lights within the vicinity burst, and you can sense every object tethered to an electric current meeting a similar outcome. There are flashes of blue as you bring up a hand to shield your eyes from the stabbing flickers. Through your lashes, you perceive the familiar form of a man descending as jagged lines of lightning sprout in a wing like formation at his back. When the lightning finally disappears, the air is left quivering from the massive discharge of power. You bring your hand back down, getting a better look at his figure. No longer is he confined to a wheelchair, drooling and absent. This man is fully cogent, sentient, with dominance oozing from every pore. This is an archangel.

The man slides his ominous gaze towards the angel in front of you.

“Castiel.” He acknowledges in a deep rumbling voice. 

Castiel’s face darkens. “Raphael.”

The archangel takes a brief glance at the hunter before resting his attention on you. You grimace at the invisible weight. The edges of his lips twitch, almost in a deriding manner. “And the immortal.”

You hold his gaze, curious of how much he knows about you.

Dean steps forward, taking Raphael’s scrutiny away. “I thought you were supposed to be impressive. All you do is black out the room?”

Raphael raises his head at the impudent remark. “And the eastern seaboard.” His glower switches to Castiel. “It is a testament to my unending mercy that I don't smite you here and now.”

You bristle at his words, digging your fingers into your palms to keep yourself from stepping between them. You’re thankful when Dean speaks up in the angel’s defense.

“Or maybe you're full of crap. Maybe you're afraid that God will bring Cass back to life again, and smite you, you candy ass skirt.” He throws Raphael a sneering salute. “By the way, hi, I'm Dean.”

You marvel at Dean’s tenacity. If you all make it out of this alive, you vow to buy the man all the pie he wants.

Raphael studies the hunter with a calculated show of amusement. “I know who you are. And now, thanks to him,” his eyes flicker to Castiel condemningly, “I know where you are.”

Castiel tenses. “You won't kill him. You wouldn't dare.”

“But I will take him to Michael.”

You watch the exchange with trepidation.

Dean, now completely invested in his brazen façade of reckless abandon, continues to spin his mocking commentary. “Well, that... sounds terrifying.” He saunters to the cooler lying near the corner of the room. He flips open the lid and plucks out a bottle. “It does. But, uh, I hate to tell you...” He unscrews the cap and takes a drink, every angle of his form daring the archangel to challenge him. “I'm not going anywhere with you.”

Raphael scrutinizes the hunter from head to toe. His lips twitch into a smirk when his eyes flash with discovery. “Surely you remember Zachariah giving you stomach cancer.”

Dean looks away. Although a grin is plastered his face, there’s a sharp strain in his eyes. “Yeah. That was—that was hilarious.” He passes Raphael a jeering smile.

“Yes well. He doesn't have anything close to my imagination.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean continues to goad, but his voice is steeper now.

Raphael walks forward, his authority looming.

One step.

Two steps.

Almost there.

Three steps.

“I bet you didn't imagine one thing.” Dean’s grin widens.

The archangel narrows his eyes. “What?”

“We knew you were coming, you stupid son of a bitch.” Dean takes out his lighter and flicks the spark wheel. A small flame erupts, and he tosses the lighter onto the floor. A line of oil trails the wooden planks as the fire gorges on the fuel, racing back to the start in a perfect circle. Almost instantly, the flames erupt and surge upwards, ignited with the touch of angelic energy. Raphael is trapped.

Unadulterated surprise etches across the archangel’s face. He turns a scathing glare towards the hunter.

Dean feels a sudden chill. The unprecedented success in their plan temporarily quells his bravado. He shrinks back from Raphael’s rage. “Hey, don't look at me. It was his idea.” He passes the blame to Castiel, to which the angel returns with a blank stare.

You bring a hand to your face. Scratch that. You’re not buying him pie.

Both men quickly restore their attention to their highly dangerous and temporarily trapped foe.

Castiel is the first to act. “Where is he?”

Raphael sneers. “God? Didn't you hear? He's dead.”

You exchange bewildered looks with Dean. Castiel is still midst of processing.

The condescending seraph continues his spiel. “There's no other explanation. He's gone for good.”

“You're lying!” You blurt out before you realize, turning the room’s attention on you.

The archangel regards you in amusement before his eyes turn bitter. “Am I?” He turns his focus to Castiel. “Do you remember the 20th century? Think the 21st is going to be any better? You think God would let any of that happen if he were alive?”

The words are lost in your throat. You know he’s wrong, but your mind is a mess of half-formed rebuttals and rejections. Beside you, Castiel’s resolve dithers. You can see the growing doubt pressing into his shoulders like dead weight.

Dean steps forward, seeming to reclaim his former arrogance at his friend’s wavering will. “Oh yeah? Well then who invented the Chinese basket trick?”

You throw the man a blanched look. He ignores you.

Raphael’s lips twitch. “Careful. That's my father you're talking about, boy.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah. Who would be so proud to know that his sons started the friggin' apocalypse.”

Raphael’s eyes flare with rage, no longer willing his keep his reticence. “Who ran off and disappeared? Who left no instructions and a world to run?”

“So, daddy ran away and disappeared. He didn't happen to work for the post office, did he?”

Castiel shoots the hunter a look, the man is treading on thin ice.

Raphael stares at Dean incredulously. “This is funny to you? You're living in a godless universe!”

“And? What, you and the other kids just decide to throw an apocalypse while he's gone?”

Dean’s words strike a chord as a twinge of genuine pain flashes across Raphael’s face. “We're tired! We just want it to be over.” His shoulders wilt. “We just want…” He swallows. “Paradise.”

Your mind reels.

What?

What did the archangel just say?

“So, what? God dies and makes you the boss, and you think you can do whatever you want?”

Raphael discards his prior vulnerability. “Yes. And whatever we want, we get.”

You stare in utter disbelief at the archangel in front of you. His recent words sit in a repetitive clang within your head.

He feels tired. The archangel feels… _tired_. A being free from mortal suffering, death and disease is feeling _tired_.

No matter how many times you rerun his words you just don’t understand it. You _can’t_ understand it.

Because Raphael and the other angels feel _tired_ , they decide to end all life on Earth so they didn’t have to work anymore?

Something bubbles inside you. A boiling white hot emotion that you’ve never felt in such intensity.

Anger. Madness. Sheer blind **fury**.

How can he? How **dare** he?

The room seems to reverberate with the seething outpour of your emotions.

Raphael looks to you with an expression akin to surprise.

“You’re tired?” Your voice carries a ringing projection across the room, mixed with a pitch that is not your own. You think you hear Dean utter a ‘what the fuck is going on’, but you’re too preoccupied at the moment to notice.

However subtle, Raphael edges back. His voice, on the other hand, carries the same entitled tone. “Do not make light of us, _Wikkōn_. Do you think it is an easy job to watch over humanity? To constantly observe the wretched and deplorable acts you humans enact on one another?” He sends a scathing glare towards Dean. “This race was doomed to damnation at the moment of their conception. We’re just speeding up the process-”

There is a ripping sound around you, and you’re suddenly pelted by wind and rain. You ignore it. “You think you’re fit to judge humanity?!”

Raphael seems more distracted by the abrupt change in his surroundings than you are. His eyes shift warily about him. “Of course,” he hisses. “I have been watching the bumbling race since they first crawled out of the mud and every insufferable moment since. We all have.”

Another loud crack pierces everyone’s eardrums, echoing your outrage at his reply and startling the arrogant seraph at the center of your vision. “Then you clearly have not been paying close enough attention, you blind, imperious fool!”

“Be careful how you speak to me, immortal!” Raphael barks out. “You may have gained favor with Michael, but that does not grant you privilege to address me with such disrespect—”

“Raphael!” Your boom cuts his rant short. You take a menacing step forward. The flames encircling the archangel lean back from your approach, thrown by the tempest that seems to emanate from your form.

Raphael’s eyes dart towards the blazing circle, anticipation dancing across his face as he watches the flames waver. His excitation is soon met with disappointment when the cage holds. He begrudgingly turns his attention back to you. “Why do you defend them? Do you not remember how they tortured the other immortals? The horrendous deeds they committed against your kind?” The seraph’s words turn cold. “If anyone should carry the title of the fool it should be you. To hold the humans with such esteem after all the things they’ve done.” His lips curl into a snide smirk. “You must be a glutton for punishment.”

A blast of wind slices across the room. Raphael twitches. Bringing a hand to his cheek, he touches a trickle of blood dripping from the nick below his eye. Inspecting the fluid with an odd realization, his gaze flashes to you in a mixture of shock and accusation.

“Yes. Humans are weak and fragile. They fear what they don’t know and can’t comprehend. They’re easily swayed by lies and selfish desires if only to drown themselves in false comforts until they’re blind with depravity. But! Of all the things they do, they do because of their need to _survive_! What is human, if not to hunger, to fear, to suffer disease, pain, doubt, and death? And even then, despite all their faults, all the depravity, there are those who continue to love, to sacrifice, to aide, and to save. Yes, the twentieth century was wrought with humanities darkest moments. But among that void, did you not see the sparks of their valiance? The ones who stood against the tidal wave of fear and adversity, and at great personal cost.” Your chest heaves from the tempest of unexpressed emotions. “Were you watching them, Raphael? Did you really see them? Did you hear their prayers and their cries?”

The archangel bristles. “They were granted passage into heaven!” 

“You think they even cared about heaven at those times? They were crying out for their loved ones! Begging to see their families and friends one last time while praying for their safety! They are the proof that in spite of all their weakness there is _strength_. For those who endure, those who fight and struggle to rise above the muck. That is the true testament to humanity! And you, who have never once lived and suffered as a human, dare cast judgement on their existence! Dare trivialize their struggles and dare extinguish their lives all for your own leisure!”

A resounding blast booms overhead as the roof is ripped off its frame. Storm and lightning pour into the room. To the archangel’s dismay, the rain does not reach his ring of fire. He only stares up at you in speechless defiance. No longer does Raphael appear eminent in his angelic prowess. His air of majesty is melted away in your scathing reprimand, reducing his image to that of a whining child. But you’re not finished. The inferno within you still scorches. Until you burn the seraph to cinders, you don’t believe you’ll be able to quell your anger.

“Alice.” A hand grips onto your right arm, and you turn your glower to whomever touched you.

Your rage immediately recedes when you see Castiel looking up at you.

“Come back down.” His voice is pleading but firm.

Confused, you stare at him, then to the ground lying meters beneath your feet. You’ve been floating in midair. Looking around the room once more, you begin to take notice of the havoc you’ve unleashed on this house. Windows shattered, floors cracked, walls torn, and a gaping hole in the roof above you. To your left, Dean is pressed against the partition that divides the living room from the main entrance. There’s a look of pure awe on his face, saddled with a touch of fear. You can feel your powers recoil. You didn’t know you were subjecting both Dean and Castiel to the brunt of your fury as well. You begin to fall, Castiel’s hand securing you by the arm on the way down. You slide him an apologetic glance. When he sees that you’re more or less in control, he turns his attention back to Raphael.

“If what you say is true, and God really is dead, then why have I returned?”

The seraph almost flinches at Castiel’s voice, having had his aghast gaze fixed on you. His eyes shift hesitantly to the angel at your side. Castiel stands steady, seeming to have regained much of his confidence.

There is a brief pause as Raphael struggles to find his voice. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe Lucifer raised you?” Even then, there is a trembling tenor in his pitch.

Castiel narrows his eyes, his hold on your arm tightening. “No.”

“Think about it.” Raphael’s voice grows stronger with each word. “He needs all the rebellious angels he can find. You know it adds up.”

You think Castiel is about to object, but to your surprise, he settles his ardent gaze on you, softening as they linger there. He closes his eyes and lets out a soundless sigh.

“Let's go.” The commanding tone in his voice is meant more for the idle hunter standing to the other side of you. Dean snaps out of his daze.

“Castiel,” Raphael rasps out. “I'm warning you. Do not leave me here. I will find you.”

To abstain from relapsing into a blind rage, you train your focus on the blue-eyed angel next to you. Castiel turns his head ever so slightly, sending the archangel the coldest look you’ve ever seen him show. His next few words make your jaw drop.

“Maybe one day. But today, you're my little bitch.”

Castiel slides his hold from your arm to your hand, tugging your shell-shocked form along as he makes his departure. Behind you, you hear Dean remark with a “what he said” before he quickly follows after you.

 

*

 

“You really tore him a new asshole! I mean, did you see the look on his face?! It was like he was about to wet himself!” Dean guffaws, slapping the steering wheel in hysterics. “Man, I really doubted you before about the whole trapping Lucifer thing. But now? Ha-ha! I bet you could take the guy on with a hand tied behind your back!” He reaches out and slaps an approving hand on your shoulder, shaking you a bit.

It’s been hours since you all abandoned Raphael in the ring of holy fire. The whole drive from the house Dean had been singing praises of the way you ripped in the archangel. While his commentary was supposed to commend you, it, instead, did the exact opposite. Not only did it remind you of just how little control you had over your powers, you realized you could have injured Dean or Castiel in the momentary lapse. While the end resulted in a rather favorable outcome, you couldn’t help but dread what could have been.

And to further sour your mood, Raphael’s words would not leave your conscience. It was what he truly felt, what the other angels truly felt. You’ve never been so let down, so distraught. You realized much of these feelings were emanating from the still separate entity deep within you. It was Lyss who burst forth, lashing out in rage at Raphael. You only mirrored her sentiments, driving both your and her emotions into the same rampaging current.

You pull at the annoyingly long bunches of your hair. They had grown again to the same troublesome length as when you first woke up in Bobby’s panic room. Lyss’s outrage must have triggered the transformation. You grind your teeth in frustration, the previous anger now gone, leaving behind a mass of misery and distress. You still cannot understand how he could feel the way he did. How he could say the things he did. Your eyes begin to sting.

“Hey, you okay?” Dean passes glances at you while taking a right turn. He does a double take when he sees your expression. “Are you crying?!”

You bring an arm to your face, rubbing your tearing eyes angrily against the sleeve. “No, I’m not!”

Dean switches from you to the road and to the equally alarmed Castiel sitting silently in the back seat. “You totally are! Why?”

“Dammit!” You bring both hands to your face in frustration. “Stop the car!”

Before Dean can even react, the wheels of the Impala pull to a screeching halt. Had your telekinetic wave not also pushed the two passengers against their seats, the hunter and the angel would be flying through the windshield. Dean sits stunned as his hands hover frozen over his steering wheel, still trying to process what just happened. You quickly push against the car door and step outside. Through the waterworks and the dark, you’re able to make out the rocky shores that lined against a bay. Despite the silence, you can feel Castiel’s presence appearing behind you. A few seconds later is the slamming of the car door as Dean finally gets out of the car and walks up to you. There’s pregnant silence, and you imagine the two are in a wordless exchange behind you. A troubled sigh is released before Dean takes a spot next to you.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

You turn an irritated glance to the hunter, hot tears now streaming down your cheeks.

Dean is taken aback.

“Raphael and his stupid legion of angels! That’s what’s wrong!”

Dean recoils from the volume, full of discomfort. He usually leaves the weeping damsel-comforting to Sam, but the man isn’t here right now, and you aren’t exactly a damsel. “Well, what can I say? Angels are dicks.” He pauses to send Castiel an unapologetic look of concession.

You shake your head bitterly. “But how could they? How could he not see? All those people who try so hard every day to live, to do better!” You’re beginning to blubber, and you scrape your sleeve across your face again. “Even when all the odds are stacked against them. People still try! Why can’t they see how admirable that is?!”

Dean rubs the back of his neck, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. He reaches out and pats you gently on the back. “Cheer up, ‘kay? Don’t let that pompous asshole get to you.”

You take a sideways glance at the hunter, pausing as an idea forms. Then, with a large influx of air, you turn back towards the bay and scream out. “RAPHAEL! YOU’RE A POMPOUS ASSHOLE!”

The cry shocks both men. Dean almost jumps a full foot of the ground. With a hand over his heart, he mutters under his breath. “Jesus Christ.” 

You take another deep breath. “AND LUCIFER CAN SUCK IT! I’LL SEAL YOUR ASS UP BACK TO YOUR CAGE!” You shoot another sideway glance at the hunter, and there’s a growing look of amusement on his face. With a half grin, he takes a deep breath and veers towards the same dark body of water.

“YOU HEAR THAT, YOU ASSHATS! ALICE AND DEAN WINCHESTER’S GONNA STOP ALL OF YOU! WE’LL BEAT YOUR FRIGGIN APOCALYPSE!”

Dean’s fervent cry makes you smile, and you look to him in gratitude. Turning back to the horizon, you send out one last screaming message. “WE’LL NEVER LET YOU WIN! WE’RE GONNA PROTECT IT! ALL OF IT!” You lean back, panting, feeling relieved and somewhat euphoric. You spin around to face the two men with a grin, smacking your hands to your cheeks. “I mean it, guys! I love this world, flaws and all! I love you, Dean, and you, Cass!”

Dean shoots you weird look while Cass stares at you flatly.

“And Sam, and Maggie, and Bobby! And everyone I’ve met and will meet! I won’t let them destroy it!” You fling your arms outward with exhilaration. And at the peak of your impulsive jubilation, you suddenly feel the drop. Your vision begins to sway, and you hear Dean’s voice of alarm. The whole world tips in one direction, and you move swiftly towards the ground. But the impact never comes, for something catches you. “I’m definitely gonna protect it all….” You mumble one last declaration as your vision fades to black.

* * *

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	15. To Leap Before You Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~  
> Castiel mirrors her actions, trying decipher the reasoning behind her words. Why is she bringing this up now? Is it pity she feels? Does he appear pitiful now that he’s been exiled by his brothers and sisters. Castiel narrows his gaze. He doesn’t like the notion. “Alice. What are you trying to say?”  
> ~

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* * *

 

~With Castiel~

 

Looking for God was not easy. Even with Dean’s talisman, Castiel felt as though he was chasing his own shadow.

Keeping his senses primed for any anomalies or miracles in every corner of the world, he flung himself across continents, traveling from the eastern hemisphere to the west, then the north to the south. Each time Castiel got even a flicker of warmth from the talisman, he would expand his awareness to the limits. And yet, the warmth would vanish in an instant, leaving him destitute.

God, his _Father_ , must have known that he was searching for him. And for some inexplicable reason, he was doing whatever he could to evade the angel. Why wasn’t God revealing himself? In a time when he was needed more than anything. Was this a test? After bringing him back, was he testing his faith, his endurance? Castiel grew increasingly restless. The constant fruitless searches were beginning to shake his will. Never a single lead could be found… until he crossed paths with Theliel again.

 

The angel had transported himself to the middle of a busy sidewalk in downtown Shanghai. When he was progressing over the continent, he thought he felt a glimmer from the amulet and propelled himself towards the city below. When he landed, the glimmer was gone, prompting him to wonder if he had only imagined it. Looking up, his eyes searched aimlessly among the crowd. The sea of people that migrated to-and-fro hardly gave him a passing glance. Castiel knew the simple scan would yield no results, but then something caught his eye. A few yards in front of him, someone familiar was walking away. Jet black hair pulled back in wild and rough strokes, the shine dancing off her wine-red jacket…. He was next to her in an instant, grabbing the girl by the arm.

She spun around in alarm. “Gan ma?”

Castiel faltered, dithering in the place he stood. This wasn’t her. Of course, it wasn’t her. Why would Alice suddenly appear halfway across the world?

The girl pulled off her headphones with her free hand, sending him a glare. She jerked her arm out of his grip. “Ni shi she ah? Gan ma zhua wo?”

Castiel frowned, dipping his head in apology. “Dui bu qi. Ren cuo ren le.”

Her face twisted with suspicion. With a tsk, she tossed her head back and continued on her way, muttering the words “Gian gui.”

The angel turned around, feeling rattled by his own actions. Eyeing the narrow walkway into a dingy alley, he forced his way through the crowd and disappeared between two buildings. When Castiel allowed himself to emerge, he had traveled back to the western continent.

It was dark, and the sun had long set over the western hemisphere. The angel was quite certain he was only a few cities away from where Alice would be. He looked towards the horizon, his instincts calling out to it, to the direction where she’d be. His insides grew cold at the thought. Steering in the opposite direction, Castiel compelled himself to focus on other matters. But then he stopped, having only taken a few steps. His head slid back to the skyline. How was Alice fairing? It had been a few days since he last visited her. Her powers were still new. What if she needed help… what if she needed **him**? His jaw locked, the idea was wholly enticing. After all, since being brought back, he hasn’t been able to drive her from his mind. He could check up on her, just to verify that she was all right…

Turning 180, he set off on his trajectory, his thoughts mulling back to the reunion with Alice.

He remembered the immortal being residing in Alice’s subconscious, remembered her words…

Lyss had lied…

He dithered.

Perhaps that was too severe a denouncement. But she _was_ wrong. Castiel recalled the woman’s startling remark.

 

_~…“You needn’t worry about the emotions you’ve developed for Alice. They should be gone now that I have taken back that piece of my soul.”…~_

 

But they weren’t.

 

When Lyss had retrieved her soul fragment, he was _relieved_ to have the burden of it lifted from him. He couldn’t comprehend the constant buzzing in his head that would endlessly trail his thoughts to Alice, to her voice, her jeering, her eyes, her touch… And so, when Castiel was informed that all these _symptoms_ were caused not by his own inclinations, but of an exterior force, he thought he was _cured_. Every bit of unease, confusion, and doubt disappeared with her diagnosis. He thought he was _free_.

 

Until it all came rushing back the moment Alice called out his name. The way she threw her arms around him, the pure elation in her voice at the sight of him….

 

True, the electric surge he felt was no longer there. But what arrived in its place…

Castiel swallowed hard at the memory.

Her fingers brushing the back of his neck…the thinness of her wrists…the curve of her back…. Every contact sent a wave of warmth through him. And when he held her there, pressed against his arm and chest, did he realize how soft, how sweetly scented, and how utterly allu—

Castiel pulled to a stop, materializing in the parking lot of a department store only a mile away from Alice’s location.

This was lunacy. He was losing his _mind_.

Castiel scanned the area around him, inwardly clawing for anything that might replace the subject of his thoughts.

The place was devoid of any signs of life, save for the moths fluttering around the streetlight behind him. Castiel stood rooted to the ground.

What was he doing? He was an angel, a soldier of the Lord. His sole reason for existence was to protect and oversee humanity. Nothing else. And in such dire conditions, he couldn’t afford to entertain such _distractions_. It was unfitting for a celestial being to develop any form of desire for another one of God’s creations. It would be a violation to the fundamental sacraments of all angels.

…Wouldn’t it?

Castiel clenched his fists, feeling the amulet dig against his palm. He unfurled his fingers over the small charm, his eyes burning with unrest. What was he to do? Why was all this cast upon him? Choosing to preserve humanity, being excommunicated from heaven, resurrected by God … and meeting Alice. Was it all a mistake? Or was this all a part of God’s plan? An orchestration so grandiose that **He** would not even disclose to his angels.

The seraph’s hand dropped to his side, his thoughts draining him.

“Castiel.”

Castiel whipped around at the voice, senses alert and battle ready. The amulet was already hidden away and replaced with the hilt of his angel blade. His glower receded into that of grim surprise when he saw who it was.

“Theliel.”

The angel who donned the appearance of a school boy, who was once a member of the same garrison as Castiel, stood a few yards across from him. His face was calm, eyes cool, masking any emotion that came coupled with their encounter. They had been, after all, friends for countless millennia. “I’m not here to fight you, Castiel.” Staying true to his words, Theliel remained at ease and unarmed.

Castiel lowered his blade but kept his instincts stringent. Since his resurrection, he had engaged his brothers and sisters in a multitude of confrontations. He was doing his best to avoid realizing the amount of angel blood that was on his hands. “Then why are you here?”

“I had to see you for myself. I was told you rebelled and that Raphael had destroyed you…” An indiscernible emotion flitted across the boy’s face, but it was quickly masked by his stony regard. “I won’t ask why you did what you did, but I cannot protect you from the other angels.”

“I would not expect you to.” Castiel could never wish the things he had endured for the past few weeks on any of the angels. Least of all, Theliel.

“Castiel, these have been… confusing times. I may not be able to disobey my orders, but I am willing to overlook them for the moment.”

Castiel angled his head a degree, narrowing his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I know who you’re searching for, and I would like to help.”

Castiel drew back. Were his actions so predictable? Were the other angels aware? His suspicions bubbled, urging the grip on his blade to tighten. “How do you know?”

There’s a ghost of a scoff on the young man’s face. “We’ve been working side by side for eons. Besides....” His eyes trailed to the ground. “It’s what I would do, if our positions were reversed.”

A certain tension dissipated when Castiel heard those words. Was it hope he felt? He visibly relaxed, eyes brimming with rekindled comradery. “Theliel…. Thank you.”

Theliel’s eyes steeled. “You may want to hold onto your gratitude. I have information that may provide you with a lead, but you’re not going to like it.”

At this point, Castiel was willing to take anything. However, he mentally prepared himself for the worst. “I’ll take my chances.”

Theliel drew out a short breath. “It’s Raphael. He’s been dwelling on Earth for the past few weeks. Rumor has it that he’s been chasing after God as well, and that he has located him. He was battling against a legion of demons in a small town in Maine a few weeks ago, his vessel remains in the area.”

All mental faculties came to a halt. The lead was Raphael? The same archangel who incinerated him only weeks ago?

“Will you still pursue this?”

Of course, he would. He had to. It wasn’t a question of will. But still….

 

_~…“Castiel.” Alice utters a little breathlessly and throws her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. “You’re all right!”…~_

 

Castiel grits his teeth, tearing himself from the memory.

“Castiel?”

“Yes. I will pursue it,” he rasped, if only to prevent himself from being swallowed by his memories, the memories he didn’t want or need, and certainly not the sentiments that pooled from them. He was an angel. He must fulfill his function. …Or he will die trying.

“I see.” The disheartened words brought Castiel from his thoughts. “I suppose there isn’t much use in deterring you then.” Theliel threw a studying glance at his former comrade-at-arms. Both men held an air of acquiescence. “If we both survive the days to come, I would like to fight alongside you again, brother.”

The habitual frown on Castiel’s face wavered. He almost smiled, albeit a painful smile. The angel could not express how much those words meant to him. “I, too, would like that very much… brother.”

With one more lingering stare that signaled a silent farewell, Theliel disappeared. Castiel was left once again to his musings, drawing a bleak monotonous lull over him. He was going to face Raphael again, at the risk of certain doom, and he was brought back only a short time ago. He wondered how Alice would react when she learned of this. Castiel frowned. She would surely do everything she could to stop him. He was mildly surprised at how certain he was of his predictions. He wouldn’t tell her, of course. Should Alice get involved, it would only put her at risk.

Castiel froze, feeling hollow. This would mean their meeting in the panic room was their last. The realization weighed into him, pulling his spirits deep under. But she would be safe if she stayed away. Now that Alice had served her purpose in releasing Lucifer, there was no assurance that the other angels wouldn’t just do away with her should they deem her a nuisance.

The possibility of Raphael scorching her away, just like the archangel had done to him… Castiel shook his head, unable to stomach the idea. He was resolute; Alice shall remain in the dark.

But, to track down Raphael’s vessel and to lure the archangel, Castiel would need help. Perhaps the Winchesters? This would be a near suicide mission. If not Sam, then certainly Dean. The man was _the_ vessel for Michael, the strongest of all archangels. Raphael wouldn’t dare lay a hand on him. Firming his decision, he turned towards the direction of the last address Dean provided him and vanished.

When Castiel landed, he posited himself outside the motel. He felt the air for Alice’s presence. For some reason, even with the sigil shielding her from him, he could still feel whenever she was close. This time however, Alice was nowhere near the vicinity. Good. He had to make this quick.

 

Dean was less than optimistic to see the angel, and even more so when Castiel relayed his proposal.

“So, what—I'm Thelma and you're Louise, and we're just going to hold hands and sail off this cliff together?”

Castiel never got the reference.

Dean abandoned the allusion and moved to pour himself a drink. “Give me one good reason why I should do this.”

“Because you're Michael's vessel, and no angel would dare harm you.”

“Oh, so I'm your bullet shield?”

The angel’s eyes hardened. He took a foreboding step forward. “I need your help because you're the only one who will help me.”

Dean edged back from the intensity of Castiel’s glower.

“Please.”

The guilt that plagued Dean was back. He inwardly squirmed under the raw sincerity behind the angel’s eyes. Finally, the hunter relented. “All right, fine.” He reached for the phone in his pocket. “I’ll call Alice.”

“No.” Castiel grabbed onto the man’s forearm. “Alice must never know of this.”

Dean scrunched his face at the angel’s severity. “What? Why?”

“Should I fail in my quest to find God, Alice could be the only recourse in stopping Lucifer. If we bring her along, Raphael would destroy her.”

The hunter considered Castiel’s words, lowering the phone back into his pocket. “So, what? We just leave her here? Isn’t she on the top of Lucifer’s list?”

Castiel retracted his hand, hesitatingly pensive. “Since Lucifer’s rising, demons and angels have been skirmishing across the globe. With this preoccupation and Alice’s growing prowess, she should be safe for the next few days. Raphael is far more lethal to her than any demon, even a legion of demons.”

“Okay, all right. But what am I supposed to tell her? She’s not gonna just sit back while I’m gone without a legitimate reason.”

Castiel cocked his head in almost derisive manner. “Then give her a legitimate reason. Make up something believable, so long as she doesn’t follow us and finds out.”

Dean threw him a peeved look. “Of course. _Lying_. Why didn’t I think of that?” Looking around, he reached for the pen and notepad on the table. Ripping out the research notes he had taken for his earlier hunt, he started to scribble something down. “I’ll go along with it, but it’s your ass on the line.”

The angel stared impassively at the scrawled note before Dean tore it out to set it on the table. “As long as Alice doesn’t find out.”

 

And of course, she _did_ find out.

 

It was quite the curious stroke of luck for Alice to have a friend working in the exact same city of their undertaking and in the exact same _bar_ they would visit. Having her catch him in the most compromising situation he had ever experienced was not how Castiel imagined his last night on Earth panning out. And he was right, as expected. Once the proverbial cat was out of the bag, Alice simply would not be benched as they decided to face off with the archangel. It was a near miracle that all three of them would leave the operation completely unscathed.

Interestingly enough, through the incident, Castiel caught glimpse of something he never dreamed possible. When Alice set loose her rage, he saw _fear_ in the archangel’s eyes. Raphael had felt _afraid_ ; he had felt vulnerable. Castiel realized in that moment that the Raphael he and so many angels grew to dread was not without weakness; he was _not_ indestructible.

Dean’s exclamation dislodged his dark thoughts.

Alice was _crying_.

Any callous tenacity the angel held unraveled in an instant.

Why was she crying? Was she injured? Did Raphael hurt her? Before Castiel could hold out a hand to her, an eruption of telekinetic energy blew him back, gripping him to his seat. Alice latched the car to a standstill and pushed herself out. She ran towards the shore of a small bay. Before he realized, he had appeared behind her. What was he going to do? She wasn’t physically hurt, he knew that now. But what did he know of comforting the emotionally distressed? The only thing he was sure of was how completely helpless he felt. He didn’t like her crying. His reached out his hand…

The slamming of the car door woke Castiel. He saw his out-stretched hand. What was he going to do? The angel quickly dropped it.

When Dean arrived, he seemed equally clueless. Sending Castiel a few glances, he then jerked his head in Alice’s direction. Whatever Dean was trying to convey was lost in translation as Castiel only stared on blankly. After a few grueling seconds of silent flailing, Dean threw his hands up in a wordless surrender. He stepped up to Alice and commenced his awkward consolation.

As they listened to her rebuttal, her words struck a chord in Castiel.

Alice was right.

The angels had spent so long watching the births and deaths of humankind that they weren’t _seeing_ anymore. When did they start to lose interest in humanity’s virtues? The angels had been so focused on the suffering and death that they’ve overlooked so much of mankind’s wonder, their fortitude, and their moments of sagacity.

Castiel watched the immortal, his eyes brightening as he felt the same marvel he experienced millenniums ago when he first laid eyes on the humans.

How shamelessly she cried for the world, how she continued to bear such unshakable loyalty for the race, how her words and voice echoed her resilience across the dark waters... It was strangely uplifting. Castiel stared on in a trance-like daze.

Alice abruptly spun around, smacking her cheeks red with her hands. She was speaking nonsense now, declaring her love for Dean and the angel, and all the other names that rolled off her tongue. But then she started to sway, her eyes losing their focus. Castiel broke forward, but Dean was a second quicker. Just as Alice plummeted face first, the hunter caught her. Lying her down, he gave her a gentle shake.

Castiel approached, bending down next to the girl. His eyes peered into the core of her body. There were two distinct energies within her, shifting colors pushing and melding into one another. Alice was in midst of another physical transition. She was finally starting to integrate her powers.

“Alice! Shit! What’s wrong?”

The angel held out a hand to calm the man. “She’s fine. Just fatigued. Her body is adapting to the changes of her abilities.”

Dean mouthed a silent ‘oh’, noticing an odd tenderness in the angel’s features.

Castiel placed a hand under Alice’s back, pulling her away from Dean and into his own arms. He was careful to gather her obscenely long hair. Once she was secure, he turned in the direction of the Impala. As he settled the girl in the backseat, Dean was watching him with a bemused scrutiny.

Castiel closed the car door as gently as he could. “We should leave. Even with the sigil’s protection, it may not have been the wisest decision to call out Lucifer’s name. Not to mention any demons that could be in the vicinity.”

Dean smirked but gave his surroundings a hard look. Swinging the driver’s side door open, he slid inside. Castiel took the seat next to him. Revving up the engine, the hunter backed the car onto the asphalt road and steered forward.

“So…” Dean drew out the word with slurred suggestiveness. “When did you start _feeling_ Alice?”

Castiel dithered, glancing back at the sleeping girl then turning a confused look to the hunter. “I am not touching her.”

Dean chuckled. “Right now, you’re not.”

The angel hesitated, perplexed but apprehensive. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

That comment provoked another laugh. Dean pitched his friend a sly look. “Hey, I saw the way you looked at her. No need to hide it. It’s not like she can hear you now.” At the angel’s blank face, realization dawned on the hunter. He studied Castiel with raised brows. “You really have no idea?”

Further silence.

Dean snorted, grinning into the road ahead. “Dude. You like her.” He prods the angel with shrewd glances. “I mean, you _like_ like her.”

Castiel’s expression turned to ice, surprising the hunter.

No amount of denial was able to shield the angel from the bluntness of that declaration. However, hearing those words brought about a certain weight, resonating with a clarity that could only be evoked by the truth…

He was suddenly painfully aware of his angel duties. His mission was first and foremost and always will be to God and his creations. To stray from that, all because of certain sentiments…would not only be selfish but a betrayal to all that he was.

His insides turned cold.

Dean slapped a hand on the angel’s shoulder. “Relax. I’ll give ya a hand. I’ll be your personal wingman. Alice’ll be putty in your hands before you know it.”

“She can’t know.” Castiel sent the man cautioning glare.

Dean’s humor fell a notch. “Why not?”

The angel turned his hardened gaze forward. “I won’t explain my reasons. She simply can’t. We have more important things to focus on.”

Dean made a face, clearly disappointed with the outcome. And he was so looking forward to all the hilarious situations he would jam the awkward angel in. “That’s too bad. I know Alice likes you.” He peered over to gauge Castiel’s reaction. True to Dean’s expectations, the angel was frozen, his previous frown dislodged by the blank surprise that now resided over his features. A second later, Castiel vanished.

The hunter grinned and switched his attention back to the road.

 

*

 

A few days have passed since the incident with Raphael, and a certain angel is currently standing on top of a hill in North Wales. To the west, he can see the St. Georges channel rippling forth a wall of fog. He passes his eyes along the rolling contours of the earth, feeling the hum of heavenly energy that once laid abundant on this land. This place is, after all, where Eden first touched Earth.

Castiel knows he isn’t going to have much luck finding God here, but the lull of Eden’s residual powers is comforting. Now that he’s exiled from Heaven, he’s lost all visiting rights to the one place he could relax in. He will have to make do with these empty green pastures. Castiel lets out a heavy sigh, feeling withered.

After what Dean had unveiled, the angel sent himself away to avoid any further contact with Alice. To distract himself, he continued to scour the Earth for his _Father_. But during moments of crippling emptiness, he would search out demons and other dark creatures in order to burn his unrest into their charred remains.

Unwittingly, Castiel is once again turned to the direction of where she’d be. He can feel her presence beckoning him from miles away. He closes his eyes, resisting it all.

 

_…Castiel..._

The angel’s eyes shoot open. It’s her voice. Castiel falters. Are his desires so strong that they’re beginning to manifest auditory illusions?

 

_Castiel..._

The voice comes again, stronger this time. Could it be? Is Alice actually calling him?

 

_Dammit, Cass! Answer already! I need your help!_

Without another thought, the angel abandons the lush hills. When he reappears, he’s standing in the corner of a new lodging. Unlike their previous motel rooms, this residence not only has better lighting, but the décor and furnishings are clearly of a higher grade. The only objects that blemish the room’s pristine appearance are the mess of papers, books, and notes strung across one of the twin beds. His eyes continue to scan the abode until they land on what they’re searching for.

Alice spins around, her face beams when she catches sight of him. “Cass! You came!”

The angel is still, studying the girl’s form. She had cut her hair, falling like black silk to her waist. He can smell her flowery scent from across the room. “Why did you call me? You sounded urgent.”

Alice is docile in an instant. A sheepish grin pulls across her lips. “Uh, right. We’re not in danger or anything, but I do need help with something.”

Castiel relaxes, only to have tension grab him again when he realizes they’re alone. The angel glances around the room, prompting a curious Alice to do the same.

“Where’s Dean?”

“Huh? Oh.” The wariness in her eyes fade. “He’s out. It’s his turn to buy dinner.”

Castiel steels himself, firmly gluing his eyes away from her. This isn’t good. Now that he knows, now that he’s aware… everything about her seems to entice him. He swallows hard.

“Look, Cass. I’m sorry for calling you while you’re looking for God. I know how important that is to you.”

The dejection in her voice draws his gaze. Her eyes are downcast, brimming with apprehension. She must have mistaken his tension for impatience. He forces his hands to remain where they are.

“If there was any other way, I would have finished it myself, but I can’t.” Alice looks up, her gaze determined. “Not without your help.”

Castiel is completely still. Why is it so easy to agree with her every word? Why is there such a need to accomplish whatever it is she wants?

With only one demand, she had pooled all his desires to a singularity.

Lunacy.

Castiel reels in his mind, repulsed by his own lack of restraint. Before Alice would notice his delayed response, he mentally shakes himself into focus. “What do you need?”

Alice’s expression softens, relieved to find his cooperation. She looks away, her thoughts causing her brows to crease. “Ever since our confrontation with Raphael, I was worried that I might lose control of myself again. Even though things turned out okay that day, I’m afraid the next time I snap, the people around me might get hurt.” She grimaces, imagining some dire possibility. When the thought passes, she brings her gaze back to the angel. “I found a spell. It can act as a seal to restrain my powers until the changes in my body are fully cohesive. It’s a relatively simple one, but the ingredients are difficult to come by. Even with Bobby’s connections, no one has any in stock.” She turns around and searches through a few of the papers scattered on her bed. Finding the one she needs, she spins back to show the angel. “The first two ingredients are a pint of my blood and a piece of pure silver— _that_ I was able to find easily enough. The rest is where you come in.”

At her pointed look, Castiel nods.

“I need water from the Fountain of Youth and a branch from a tree called the Llangernyw Yew, it’s apparently one of the oldest trees in the world. Do you think you could get them?”

Castiel deliberates. The second is simple. The Llangernyw Yew still stands in North Wales, where he had just been, a faded embodiment of Eden’s fertility. The first, however, is much harder. It’s highly likely that the fountain has already run dry.

Unknown to most people, the legend of the fountain of youth was true. However, like all legends, certain facts were misconstrued. Firstly, the fountain was not a spring but a lake. Secondly, although the water does grant immortality, drinking or bathing in the water does not, in fact, bestow eternal youth. In reality, the water was the work of faerie enchantment concocted by mischievous fey folk who wanted to watch humans toil. For the individuals who succeeded in finding the fountain and drank from it did achieve eternal life. However, time still chipped away at them, draining the energy and vitality from their bones. Every year they grew older, weaker, feebler, but never dying. Even as their family, friends, and neighbors passed, even as their children and children’s children passed, they remained. Until at last, sick with loneliness and longing, they begged the Heavens for mercy. Heaven responded, sending a bolt of lightning to the lake. The ground beneath crumbled, and the water drained away, submerged so deep underground no man would ever be able to find it again. And as the water disappeared, a second wave of lightning struck the Earth, incinerating each of the men cursed with immortality.            

 

“I’ll do what I can. When do you need them?”

Her sheepish look is back. “I need them for the eclipse.” She pauses with a timid tilt of her head. “Which happens tonight.”

Castiel nods. “I’ll be back as soon as I can—”

“Wait! Before you leave!” Her hand shoots out to grab the angel’s sleeve. “Dean told me you got a cellphone. Give it here.” Alice lets go of the fabric and turns her hand palm up.

Castiel stares at the open hand for a few seconds before reaching into his pocket, producing said cellphone. He places the device hesitatingly into her hand.

Flipping the phone open, Alice then proceeds to press a series of buttons. “I know you can’t find us if we don’t directly call out your name. So, if you ever need to reach me, you now have my number.” She turns the phone around to show him the screen. Castiel only nods obediently. He isn’t going to tell her how he’s still able to locate her regardless of the sigil. He only hopes he’s the lone exception. Castiel sets the phone back in his pocket.

“When you get back, I’ll either be here or on the roof. This is the tallest hotel I was able to find in the city, and I’ll need to be as close to the moon as possible at the time of the eclipse.” Alice trails off, the tension in her face tells him there’s more she wants to say.

Castiel’s gaze softens. “Alice. I’ll be fine.” He isn’t sure why he said that; she didn’t indicate that she was worried.

…And yet she _was_ , for that one phrase eased back her frown.

“Thanks, Cass. I owe you.”

The angel departs.

 

*

 

Castiel stares down the gaping void. Standing at the rim of sandstone, the angel extends his senses through the layers of rock. He glances at the bronze jug he lifted from a tomb in Peru, and in his other hand, a branch broken off from the ancient yew.

The first ingredient was easy enough to attain, but he had already searched a number of caves and cavities for the enchanted water only to come up empty. To make matters more troublesome, Castiel was able to detect faerie magic from a number of caverns. The constant dead-ends were trying, not to mention the very likelihood that the water no longer exists.

The mouth of a cave he’s currently hovering over is in Abkhazia, the deepest above water cave in the world. His eyes trace to the position of the sun. It will be midnight soon where Alice is. He needs to hurry. Tightening his grip over the bronze handle, he steps off the ledge.

 

*

 

“Oh, thank God, you made it!” Alice rushes toward Castiel, eager to relieve the man of the branch and jug. “It wasn’t too difficult, I hope?”

Castiel scans his surroundings. True to her words, Alice has set up the craft on the roof of the hotel. Luckily, the one she chose did not happen to have its roof renovated for client accommodations. In the center of the summit is a moderate skylight, jutting out in a dome. A few meters to the left is the boxed entry to the staircase and a shed attached at the back. Encompassing the perimeter is a waist high wall with numerous elevated platforms. Behind her, sitting on the cement, is a large metal bowl. Drawn in red marks around it are the archaic symbols similar to what he observed in her book. His eyes dart towards the girl’s hands as they enclose over the bronze container. Alice gives the man an odd look when he refuses to let go.

“Your hand.”

Alice glances down at her left palm. Sitting below her fingers is a thick wrapping of bandages. Despite the multi-layering, a red stain still permeates.

“Oh, it’s nothing. The symbols needed to be drawn in blood.”

Castiel slides the branch and jug out of her hands and sets them on one of the platforms next to him. Taking her wounded hand, he slowly unravels the bandage. Alice grimaces when the gash is revealed, turning a curious gaze to him. The wound is fresh and inflamed. Gingerly, Castiel presses his right hand over the slit. As he wills his power from his hand to hers, Alice takes in a sharp breath. When he pulls away, the hand is healed.

The girl stares dolefully at the blemished skin. “Thanks…”

“I may not be able to give Bobby back the use of his legs, but I can still heal minute injuries.”

There’s an unsettled look on her face again. But before the angel can ask, Alice jolts upright.

“Crap!” She swerves to look overhead. “It’s almost time!” Snatching up the branch and jug, she hurries towards the bowl, careful not to step on the markings. After placing the branch inside, she starts to pour the enchanted water into the same container.

Castiel lifts his head to study the growing shadow that has started its crawl over the moon. Turning back, Alice is setting some small circular object into the basin. Giving a quick glance to the sky, she skips back from her circle of runes. Inhaling deeply, she starts the incantation.

Foreign words roll off her tongue, each carrying a rippling pulse of energy. As the chant continues, the symbols start to quiver. Peeling off the cement floor in long dancing twines, the runes disappear one by one. The glowing ribbons rise further into the air before they are pulled to the bowl. When the last of the markings are swallowed, a flame ruptures from the basin, engulfing the branch and sending the water into a bubbling mushroom cloud of steam. However, the vapor only rises for a few feet before it suddenly drops in a whirling vortex.

Overhead, the eclipse has passed, the crimson amber color completely washed from the pale white sphere.

Seconds tick by as the immortal and angel continue to wait.

“I guess it’s finished.” Alice lets out a held breath. The two share a glance before approaching the bowl.

Sitting at the bottom of the metal basin is nothing but a simple silver band about two inches wide and two millimeters thick. All the other added contents have completely dissolved.

Alice reaches in to pick up the bracelet, pausing for a moment to feel its temperature. The metal is cool to the touch. Lifting it to her eyes, she examines her handiwork. Other than the odd energy that seems to emanate from the small trinket, the only other remnant of the spell are the symbols etched along its circumference.

Castiel studies the bracelet as Alice continues to turn it around in her hand. “Do you think it worked?”

“Only one way to find out.” She slips the band over her wrist.

It doesn’t take long for a reaction to appear. Once in place, the bracelet gives out a hum. There is a brief flash from the symbols before a small charge rushes outward, shooting through Alice’s body. A soft glow emits from her skin, coupled with the rising heat in her bones. Only seconds later, the warmth retreats and the glow fades.

Castiel brings out his hands, grabbing onto her arms in case of vertigo. When the girl remains steady, he starts to pull back.

“How do you feel?”

Alice blinks a few times, then studies herself in contemplation. “I think it worked.” She grins at Castiel. “This is good. Now I don’t have to walk on eggshells, checking my emotions all the time.”

Castiel regards her with a heavy look. “I’m glad. However, be mindful that your powers are there to protect you, and now that you’ve restrained them, you’re more vulnerable to demon attacks.”

Alice nods knowingly. “Right, right. Stay with Dean, watch my back. I get it. I’ll be careful.”

The angel adopts an unsatisfied air but doesn’t say anything more. Tearing his eyes away from her, he takes a step back. His role in this is over, and he knows he should leave before things start to muddle his mental convictions.

“Wait!”

Castiel turns back, trying to ignore the part of him that feels elated at her impediment. “What is it?”

The earlier optimism has vanished from her visage, which now carries a somber worry.  “I wanted to thank you, Cass. For coming through for us again and again, despite the heavy costs.” Her fingers knead into one another. “I know things haven’t been easy for you.”

Castiel frowns. Where is she going with this? “You shouldn’t hold yourself responsible for my decisions. I chose to stand with you, and I don’t have any regrets.”

Alice searches his face. “Is that really true?”

Castiel mirrors her actions, trying to decipher the reasoning behind her words. Why is she bringing this up now? Is it pity she feels? Does he appear pitiful now that he’s been exiled by his brothers and sisters? Castiel narrows his gaze. He doesn’t like the notion. “Alice. What are you trying to say?”

Her brows crease, lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes drop to the ground, darting left and right as if looking for the correct words. Finally, she lets a surrendered sigh.

“We’re worried about you, Cass.”

Castiel raises his head, bristling at the comment. Before he could surmise for certain of the belittling sympathy she must feel for him, her words interrupt the thought.

“You stood up against all the other angels for us. You _died_ … to help us. And that’s something we’ll never be able to repay. But… you don’t need to keep sacrificing yourself. _Please_.”

Castiel loses his previous rigidity. She isn’t pitying him; she’s referring to the confrontation with Raphael.

Alice closes her eyes. “I understand the desire to act recklessly when you feel like you’ve got nothing left to lose. But for goodness sake, you were just brought back!” Her hands clench. “And I know we haven’t known each other that long, but after all we’ve been through, you’re important to me.”

Castiel stills, all emotion wiped from his face.

Her shoulders fall, irises staring up at him with complete vulnerability. “I’ve never had a family or many friends, so the ones I’ve got now mean the world to me. I am begging you, Cass. The next time you’re about to risk your life, no matter how necessary you think it is, promise me that you will consult me so I can change your mind.” A small bit of humor slides into her tone. “And if not, at least give you a fresher perspective.” The former melancholy returns, and Alice casts her gaze to the ground again. “I can’t… bear to lose you, Castiel,” she trails off, sneaking a look at the angel. When the man appears unresponsive, her vulnerable demeanor morphs into one of anger.

“I mean it, Cass! If you ever decide to throw your life away without warning me, I’ll never forgive y—”

Before she can finish her thought, Castiel grabs her wrist, pulling her toward him. He crashes his lips over hers, effectively silencing her. Her eyes widen in surprise, taking in a sharp breath of air, only to have it stolen away a moment later. Castiel can feel her shock, but he can’t stop himself. Maneuvering her backwards, he pushes her against solid wall. She isn’t fighting him and is instead yielding. He’s well within her defensives, completely disarming her, and he knows it. Castiel’s never known the taste of a woman, and her mouth is so sweet. His senses strike him, coursing forth the memory of their past kiss, and how deliciously saccharine she had tasted then. The effect is immediately addictive, and he pushes forward, demanding for more. But it isn’t enough. He squeezes his eyes shut, savagely grazing his lips over hers. As pleasurable as this is, as stimulating as it is, he remains utterly insatiable. He wants more, _needs_ more. Castiel brings his hands down her cheeks, brushing her neck.

What is it about this immortal that peaks his longing in all the worst ways? Is it her softness? Her supple form molding against his as he presses her into the concrete wall? Is it her scent of crisp spring after the last snow fall, or the way her eyes waver with an ocean of warmth every time he saw his reflection in them?

It’s agony.

His hands trail to her back, running down against her spine until he reaches the gentle curve. He continues to stand there, kissing her. His lips stroke against hers so hungrily it’s almost violent. As he crushes her further into him, she lets out a moan. Clearly unintentional, but the soft sound manages to drive the angel completely over the edge. He’ll have her, he has to. He’ll keep her by his side, for eternity at his volition. He can easily drown in this feeling, deliriously, but cravingly. He would possess her, for her to be his and no one else’s… 

Alice turns away for air, only able to catch a brief gulp before her mouth is once again thieved by Castiel. She starts to unravel, and he can feel it. Her heat and equally wanton desire. Alice lets out another moan, lustrously content and responding to every little movement he enacts. Her fingers brush against his neck.

“Castiel…” she sighs.

 

_~… “Do you want to protect us? Do you think humans are worth protecting?”…~_

 

Castiel’s eyes snap open. Grasping the girl’s hands, he yanks them away from his neck and pushes them into the wall.

Alice is jerked back, dazed and startled. Her chest heaves up and down with heavy pants.

The angel refuses to look her in the eyes. Why did he have to remember that particular memory? It’s as though a part of him couldn’t help but feel culpable of his actions, no matter how torturously gratifying they are. Castiel grimaces at the thought. The reminders of his mission and duty assail his conscience.

This is wrong. He’s crossed the line. He’s made a mistake.

Alice traces her eyes over the angel’s pained expression. “Cass…?”

Castiel grits his teeth. “I can’t….”

Alice stumbles, having the pressure that trapped her suddenly removed. Her eyes search the roof, bewildered.

Castiel is gone.

Knees buckling, Alice drops to the floor. She stares out across the night sky, feeling dizzy and confused.

 

 

~Your P.O.V.~

 

You push against the door of your hotel room, finding all the lights still off. You flip the switch for a dim lamp light as you let the door swing to a close. You look around the space for any signs of the hunter.

Empty.

You breathe a relieved sigh, knowing you aren’t ready to face Dean in your current state. You drag your feet towards your bed and throw down your bag of materials. Plopping over the mattress, you don’t even bother with the papers and books that cover the sheets. You let out another sigh. Now that you have calmed down, you’re realizing just how difficult and awkward things have become. You frown at the ceiling. You know you like Castiel. A lot. And while a part of you wants to seek him out right now and question him until every grain of your curiosity is satisfied, another part is repelled by the idea of facing him. You turn your head towards the far window, looking out into the city lights. 

 

_“Alice….”_

 

You sit up, looking around the room for the person who called you. Your hand immediately jumps to your bracelet, ready to take it off at any sign of danger.

_“Alice.”_

Your gaze land on the vanity mirror. Narrowing your eyes, you slowly get up from your bed. You know the voice is familiar. Walking towards the vanity, you find your own reflection staring back at you with stringent disapproval. You blink. This isn’t you.

 _“Alice,”_ your reflection speaks, prompting you to jump back.

“Lyss?” You rub your eyes and examine the mirror again. The image persists, and only now do you notice the peculiar color of her gold irises and silver hair. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

“No,” she replies.

You glance around the room, finding the appearance of an autonomously moving reflection deeply unsettling. “What are you doing in the mirror? You know this only backs up Dean’s theory of me being crazy, right?”

_“I am not really within the mirror. I am inside you. I am a part of you, always. In dire situations, I can alter your senses so I may communicate with you even when you’re conscious.”_

 You pull back a bit, angling your head. “And why would this constitute a dire situation?”

Her gaze darkens, watching you with what you feel to be accusation. _“What are you doing with Castiel?”_

You glare at her, feeling a touch embarrassed but unashamed. “Why does it matter?”

Lyss closes her eyes, the demeanor is all at once melancholic. _“He is an angel, Alice, and you are a_ Wikkōn _. Despite the circumstances, he will always have obligation to Heaven, and you—we… are obligated to Earth.”_

You clench your fists. “You’re right. You’re a part of me, Lyss. Which means, you must feel the same emotions as I do. You know how I feel about him.”

_“Which is why I am warning you now. Stop yourself now while you still can.”_

“I don’t get it. I’m doing everything I can stop Lucifer. Why can’t I have this and fulfill my obligations at the same the time?”

Her eyes grow wistful. _“Being a protector means you must always put the wellbeing of the world above anything else, and harboring feelings for another singular being would jeopardize that fealty.”_ She pauses, allowing the words to seep into your awareness. Her lips press into a dismal line when she sees you need further elaboration. _“There might come a time when the interests of Castiel and the interests of the world are pitted against each other. You cannot split yourself among them, and you’ll have to choose one over the other.”_ She lifts her left wrist, and you’re surprised you’re doing the same. She presents the symbol etched below the palm. _“This burden is too great to bear with divided affections, but bear it you must. Which means, you will choose the world every time.”_

You stare at the mark on your wrist, feeling belligerently defiant. You don’t want to protect your world out of obligation, but out of sincere adoration. You refuse to let Lyss’s past shackle you from making your own decisions. So much has changed after all. **_You_** have changed. Although Lyss is a part of you, she is also very different. There must still be a way for you to live free, to make your own choices whilst still protecting all you hold dear. You turn a determined face to the mirror.

“I’m sorry Lyss, but I can’t do what you’re asking. I don’t want to chain myself to this duty only to have myself resent it later. I’ll protect our world because I choose to; because I want to. Just as I’ll choose to love anything and anyone else. And I **will** succeed. I’ll make it work.”

Lyss regards you silently, then dips her head in acquiescence. _“For your sake and mine, I hope you’re right.”_

 

 

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